Dominus Tecum
by Enchantable
Summary: Forced to find another vessel, Michael the Archangel teams up with the brothers to find a way to stop Death and kill Lucifer. A job that would be much easier without Gabriel's comments and Dean's growing feelings for Jo Harvelle, the vessel he inhabits.
1. Chapter 1

**So I abandoned Kyrie. Seriously it wasn't going to happen after this week's episode. Then between the awesomeness of Gabriel and a weird idea I had, I figure it was time for a fic. So this one I thought was just too good not to do...and, well, read on.**

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Grief was a strange thing.

It didn't hit Dean on the plane ride back. Didn't hit him on the car ride to Bobbys, nor as he watched the picture of the four of them burn. As he watched it the only thing he felt, really, was numbness. After all, as he watched the last real evidence that Jo Harvelle had stood in the room burn away, it seemed to him that he was in a dream. Their plan, their great master don't-let-the-angels-take-your-bodies-plain was a bust. Five things. Five stupid things and Lucifer happened to be one of them. So much had been lost that it was almost too much. He couldn't focus on any one loss, on any one problem or he feared he truly would shatter. Like the shot glass Bobby threw against the wall as they left, the one they barely heard shatter behind the closed door.

No, it was not until they were safe in the motel, when he was in the show, that was when the grief hit. The water that streamed down his body was warm and comforting, comfort he didn't deserve. He had died three times protecting people and yet when Jo tried to protect him--damn it, there wasn't anyone to protect her. Sam, his dad, Cas--they had brought him back. But there wasn't anyone to protect Jo and she was gone. Blindly his fingers reached for the knob of the shower, twisting it as hard as he could in the other direction until the water that streamed across the planes of his shoulders was freezing. Or he knew it was freezing. Honestly he didn't feel it. Didn't feel a damn thing. It felt like someone had ripped his chest open and taken out everything he was.

What did it matter now? What did any of it matter. Death was released, Lucifer was immune to the Colt and Jo Harvelle was dead. What was the point in anything anymore? From Sam's silence he had a feeling that Lucifer had played some kind of mind-fuck on him, _again_. Everything was going to hell in a hand basket and he was supposed to stand against it all. How the hell was he going to do that? Every stand he made, every time he gained an inch, those bastards took a mile. He could and he would fight to his last breath but that didn't matter. They would still fight him, he would still loose. It was as simple as that and standing in the shower, he could acknowledge that. Even if he couldn't anywhere else.

"Dean?" there was a knock on the door, "Dean, you okay in there?"

Blinking drops out of his eyes, Dean looked at the door through the cheap fabric of the shower curtain. He must have been there for a while to worry even Sam. Slowly Dean reached behind him, his fingers grasping the knob. Twisting it off, he pushed the curtain back. His hand reached out and grabbed the towel. His movements felt robotic, alien. He knew the weren't for him. He could sit in the shower and let the cold water stream over him for eternity. He deserved it. Deserved the pain, the suffering, the abandonment. But it wasn't to be. Any longer spent in the bathroom and he knew that Sam would be there, pulling him out, doing everything to warm him back up. Sam or Cas, the two people he knew would throw themselves into hell to bring him back.

Wrapping the towel around his waist, Dean walked into the other room of the hotel. Sam sat on the bed nearby, obviously having been pacing back and forth. His brother's hands were irritated from wringing them together and his hair was in even further disarray than usually was. His eyes slid over to where Cas stood against the wall, his hands loose by his sides. His eyes were downcast but they rose when Dean exited the bathroom. What Dean saw in them though, did little to make him feel better. After all, Cas hadn't known either of the women well enough for their deaths to make him look as he did. Something had happened to him as well, something terrible. But Dean couldn't find the strength to make his mouth work, to force words of concern through lips that were not trembling only by virtue of how tightly they were pressed together.

"Hey," Sam said, "you should get some cloths on, try to warm up."

Dean nodded slowly, his feet taking him towards the bag in the corner. He picked up cloths and headed back into the bathroom, pulling them on. He kept his back to the mirror though. He did not know if he could stand to look at himself now. Not so soon after everything that had happened. Dean opened the door to the bathroom and stepped back out in the main room.

But everything was not as he had left it.

"Dean get back!" Sam shouted.

Dean's head turned towards the newest occupant in the room. He still looked exactly as he had when they last seen him. Same cocky twist of the lips, same bright hazel eyes. The cloths were different, the haircut altered a bit as well but even if everything had changed, he had a feeling they would still recognize the being in front of them. He wasn't looking at them with any sort of fear or concern, just with that same look of 'i know so much more than you'. His eyes went over to Dean and the way they lit up made the barest flutter of concern make itself known in the pit of Dean's stomach.

"Oh oh oh, they did a number on you," Gabriel said with a grin, "down boys," he said glancing at Cas and Sam, "I ain't here to hurt you. See? The greif-struck one gets it," he looked at Cas, "and I think he gets it too."

"If he was here to hurt us, he would have already," Castiel said, though his eyes didn't move from Gabriel's form, "why are you here?"

"Well I was thinking about what you said," Gabriel said, "you know, about me 'screwing with people' and my 'fear of standing up to my family' and as much as it pissed me off to admit it, you had a point."

"And you took the trouble of finding us to tell us we were right?" Sam asked.

"First off, it wasn't really that hard," Gabriel said, "I could find you anywhere. You two ain't that hard to find. Second, that isn't why I came."

"Then why are you here?" Castiel questioned.

"Oh this is just another stop on a very long road," he said, "I stopped off in Maine, paid Raphael a visit. Nice job there, by the way, he was still trapped when I got there. Not too happy with you either, Cas. But we all know how Raphael gets when you step on his toes," Gabriel crossed the room, "and then I went off to a little town in Brazil and you'll never believe who I found there--"

"Lucifer," Sam cut in quickly, "you found Luci--"

"Shut up and let me finish," Gabriel snapped glaring at him, "and no, you're wrong. Big brother left that shit hole to its shitiness. I did run into Death though," he shuddered, "dude gives me the creeps. But that's not who I'm talking about."

"Michael."

Dean's eyes widened as he looked over at Cas. There was certainty in the Angel's eyes, a certainty he didn't like. Michael was here. The Archangel that had put them through so much shit it was almost difficult to believe he was a force for the side of good. He was on Earth. Dean looked back over at Gabriel who slowly raised his hands and clapped, the sound anything but celebratory in the grief filled room.

"Bingo," he said, "if I still had you in those tv shows, you'd get the million dollar prize. Michael," he let out a low whistle.

"I thought Michael was waiting for Dean," Sam said, "what's he doing here? He needs a Vessel."

"Circumstances change," Gabriel said, "Death's here, the Colt-idea was bust--great job on that one by the way--and we're running out of time. I'm sure Lucifer told you. Six moths, Detroit. We gotta work faster. We're on a time limit."

"So there's a 'we' now?" Sam demanded, "you're on our side?"

Suddenly Gabriel was in front of him, their eyes locked. Sam braced himself for an attack but there was none, the Archangel simply glared furiously up at the younger Winchester.

"Lets get one thing clear right now, shall we? I'm on one side and that side is Michael's. Now do you want to fly or should I just grab and pull you there?"

They didn't get a chance to make up their minds.

One moment they were in the cheap motel room, the next they were in a completely different place.

They stood in a circular squareof stones, surrounded on all sides by ornate buildings, except for the place where they should have entered. It was night, wherever they were, the sky painted a dark navy. The entire place was illuminated by lights that seemed to make everything around them glow. The buildings, the stones, even their skin. Dean looked over to the left where a massive pillar stretched towards the heavens. People around them walked with their eyes full of reverence. Even Castiel seemed surprised by where they were, his eyes moving around as if he was in disbelief as to their location. Only Gabriel seemed amused by the surprise and reverence painted on their faces, as if the place he stood was somehow familiar and comforting. Dean did not know how any place as large and ornate could be, he felt uncomfortable just standing there.

"Welcome," Gabriel said, motioning outwards.

"Where the hell are we?" Dean finally got himself to speak.

"Seriously?" Gabriel looked him up and down incredulously, "wow. That Hunting has killed your education," he shook his head, "welcome to Rome," he explained, "welcome to the Vatican."

"The Vatican?" Dean repeated.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. Dean gritted his teeth, trying to force himself to care. But he was finding it hard. All he wanted to do was drown in icy water, or drink until every blond woman in the world looked vaguely the same. Instead some Archangel had broken into his room and kidnapped the three of them, making them travel the way Dean hated most--even more than flying. And yet he found that at the end of the day, he didn't really care. He could be anywhere in the world and the world would still be little more than cruel joke. Hardly worth saving at all really. Dean looked over at Gabriel who seemed torn between amused frustration and outright murderous intent. His eyes moved form the Archangel to the largest and most ornate building, the one at the head of the square.

"He's in there right?" he asked, his eyes not moving from the building.

"Dean!" Sam strode forward, "Dean what the hell are you doing?" he grabbed his brother's shoulder.

"I'm going, Sammy," Dean said, not moving his eyes.

"Going--going _where_?" Sam questioned, "Dean, I know you're upset but you can't just--"

"The Colt didn't work," Dean said turning and looking at Sam, "it didn't work, Sammy, and I'm out of ideas."

"Then we'll figure something out," Sam said, "don't let him just take you like this--"

"Sorry, Sammy," Dean said breaking his brother's grip.

Sam started forward but Castiel held out an arm, stopping the younger Winchester as Dean walked forward towards the Church. Sam looked down at Castiel but the Angel had his gaze on Dean.

"Cas, Cas you gotta let me go to him," Sam said, "Dean's gonna be possessed--"

"No," Castiel said, "he is not."

"What do you mean?" Sam demanded, "you heard him--"

"Michael already has a Vessel," Castiel said, his gaze moving to where Gabriel stood, "or he wouldn't have sent Gabriel to bring us here."

Gabriel smiled wickedly and Castiel felt his stomach turn. He knew they should stop Dean from going into the church but they were out of ideas and running dangerously out of time. The Colt didn't work against Lucifer and another plan half as good would take time to figure out. Michael had found a suitable vessel or this would not be happening. Even Gabriel had to locate a vessel before he could pull his disappearing act, one that would allow him access to his powers. Angels could not simply walk the earth, it didn't work like that. And Lucifer's sworn enemy, he would not be foolish enough to enter Earth without a body that would allow him at the very least to fight.

He was worried for Dean, same as Sam, but he knew that this was one fight they could not help Dean with. Grief was a paralyzing emotion, one that could override everything else one felt. Dean was lost to it right now and that was something they could fix. They could not join him in the darkness, not this time. All they could do was wait. Wait and hope and do everything they could to make sure that when he came back there was a world to fight for. Though it killed Castiel inside not to be able to do anything, to be so helpless, he knew that any attempt they made at kindness now would be met with disgust from Dean.

"We must let him speak to Michael."

Down the square, Dean crested the steps and walked through the massive double doors into the Church. Sense told him it was closed, there would have been people inside of it if it was open. But there was no-one there. As he stepped inside, the beauty of the place was not lost on him. If the square outside had been spectacular, the interior of the cathedral was a thousand times that. Everywhere he looked, images of a God he had never truly believed in until recently reigned down on him. He could still wonder in the back of his mind if Gabriel had really once looked like the statues depicted him. If so he couldn't really blame the guy for wanting a face transplant. His eyes moved past the statues of Raphael and of the God everyone said abandoned them to the front of the Church.

A single, solitary figure stood under the glow of the lights.

Dressed in an open coat that reached his ankles, the contours of his body were lost to the garment. Dean frowned as he approached, realizing that Michael seemed to be rather short. The blond hair that he had seen in the pictures was there, but it was wavy and reached his shoulders. Dean at least looked at the Archangel's hands to see if the infamous flaming sword was there but they were empty, covered by tan leather gloves that Dean could have sworn looked familiar. As he approached the figure, elation and trepidation spread through him, against his own will. He didn't know why, but those were the feelings, muddling together.

His feet stopped when he was still behind Michael, but close enough for it to be clear that he was a good head shorter than Dean and, though his form was lost to the black coat he wore, it was not the body of a man. If Dean had to bet, he'd bet that Michael's sorry vessel wasn't that of a man.

It was a girl.

"You wanna talk?" Dean demanded, "then why don't you turn around and show me the sorry son of a bitch who took my place."

Michael said nothing before he turned around. Later on, Dean would think that somewhere deep inside he knew. He had to know. It was just sick and twisted enough that the strongest of the Archangels would do it. But it didn't stop his eyes from widening in horror as every emotion he felt was wiped away by the simple revelation of the sorry son of a bitch who had taken his place as Michael's vessel. Dean had been destroying himself over how he had been unable to protect her, but somehow this was a thousand times more terrible than anything he could have imagined. There was no blood, no eyes struggling to focus, nothing to show what had been done to her. Whole, alive--everything he had wished she would somehow be again and yet it was in the worst way possible. He looked down at Michael and the son of a bitch smiled up at him, that small smile that lit up the eyes he was certain he would never see again.

"No," was the only word his lips could make, his voice reverant enough that any passerby would think he was praying, "no."

"Hello, Dean," the Archangel said.

It was Michael who said those words.

But it was Jo Harvelle's voice.

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**OK so I know Dean was a bit crazy, everyone was. But i figured after loosing two awesome girls like the Harvelle's, they'd be acting a bit weird. Poor Dean, things are about to get even worse for him.**

**Please Review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay so for those who've been asking, "Dominicus Tecum" is a latin phrase that means "May the Lord be With You" and is used sometimes in hymns. **

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"No--" Dean stared down at the Archangel, "you miserable son of a bitch! What did you do?!" he shouted.

"What did _I_ do?" Michael demanded, "perhaps you should ask yourself what _you_ did that took us here!"

Dean gaped at the Archangel. He knew it was Michael that spoke, but it was Jo's voice that echoed through the church. It was impossible to separate them though. The woman who stood in front of him was Jo Harvelle. Her features were the same, beauty that was usually hidden underneath a tougher than nails exterior. She was dressed in a tank top that showed off a good portion of her mid drift and low slung black leather pants tight enough to look as if they had been painted on. The smooth skin revealed only a neat pink line across her middle where the Hell Hound had once slashed her open. A fatal wound reduced to a pink line. Her hair had been cut off as well. Instead of tumbling down her back it barely came to below her shoulders now.

But it was not Jo's eyes that looked up at him.

No, the gaze that met his was angry, angrier than Dean thought he'd ever seen Jo. Her head was titled up, her gaze locking with his without so much as an ounce of shame. If anything she looked as though she wanted nothing more than to pick him up and slam him into the nearest column. Of all the things he thought Michael would do, of all the thousands of ways his 'no' could have been turned into a 'yes', this wasn't one of them. His mind had gone to twisted places before, dark places, but never anywhere as dark and twisted as this. It was Michael the Archangel, possessing the body of Jo Harvelle. Jo who he had kissed desperately before she blew herself up, who had fought Hell Hounds and actually killed one before she had been too injured to move.

Now she stood in front of him, whole, alive and still dead.

"You wanted me, then fine, you got me," Dean said, "just let her go. She doesn't have anything to do with this!"

"Sorry Dean, but it doesn't work like that," Michael snapped turning around.

"What the hell do you mean it doesn't work like that?" Dean demanded, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder.

Suddenly Dean found himself sailing through the air. Not forward as if Michael had flipped him but backwards, as if by some invisible wind. Slamming into the marble of the column, his head smacked into the stone. Stars danced in front of Dean's eyes but he blinked them back, his eyes remaining locked on Michael. The Archangel turned slowly towards him. His hands were by his sides, he hadn't even needed to move in order to throw Dean. Michael's feet echoed as he walked forward, his eyes blazing as he looked at the elder of the Winchesters.

"I gave you a chance to let me in. To let us work together and end this thing long before it got out of hand. But you refused me. You honestly thought you could defeat Lucifer, an Archangel, with a _gun_. So I let you have your fun, I thought maybe there was a chance it would work. But it didn't."

"You son of a--"

"It didn't work! And I was forced to seek another vessel, one that would let me fight Lucifer. I watched you and this girl," he motioned to his body, "and I realized that the answer had been in front of me all along. She's not you, Dean, but in a few years she might be as good. A few more and she'd be one of the best. She was just full of wasted potential."

Michael stopped when he was right in front of Dean. Dean found himself sliding down the column until he was on the ground and then further still until he was level with Michael.

"And so I asked her and she said _yes_."

"Liar," Dean spat.

Michael backhanded him across the room. Dean slid across the marble floor, slamming into the steps leading to the altar. Michael advanced on him, the anger in his eyes enough to reach through the darkness threatening Dean's vision. As he looked up at the Archangel, Dean realized what it was like to be a Demon. There was _nothing_ he could do to stop the feet that brought the Archangel closer to him, he was powerless and the bitch of it was that they both knew it. Michael walked closer, his eyes burning into Dean. Dean was powerless to look away from the heated, angry gaze that crippled him. Michael was going to kill him and there was nothing that he could do about it. Before he could move, Michael was in front of him, seizing him by the collar of his jacket and hauling him up. Despite their difference in size, Dean found his feet barely brushed the floor.

"I will not stand here and be insulted," MIchael snarled, "I gave you time. Are you truly foolish enough to believe that I could not bring you to Heaven with a snap of my fingers? That I could not do things to you that would having you _screaming_ yes until your voice broke?"

"Then why didn't you?" Dean demanded, his hands locking around the feminine wrist that had no problem holding him aloft.

Michael's features contorted in anger and even in his state, Dean realized that when she was angry, Jo was even more beautiful. The idea that somewhere in that body that had been so easy to carry was the strength to kick his ass was definitely surprising and more than a little attractive to the eldest Hunter. Attractive until he reminded himself that the arm that held him might have been Jo's but the anger, that certainly was not. Michael glared up at him before his hand released him. Dean slammed into the ground, his legs buckling as the marble floor rose up to meet him. Michael lowered his hand, glancing at the appendage before his eyes went to Dean.

"That is not your concern," he said, "our time is short and I cannot afford to have you running around like an unchecked dog any longer," he tucked his hands in his pockets.

"Then," Dean pushed himself up with a great amount of difficult, ignoring the pain that flashed through his ribs, "why the fuck are you here?"

"Because Lucifer is," Michael said, "and therefore I must be as well. I do not relish the idea of making the world a battlefield, so there must be another way to send Lucifer back to hell."

"No battle?" Dean demanded pushing himself to his feet, "no grand war. Trumpet sound and all that shit."

"Not if we can find another way," Michael said.

"We?"

"Yes," he said, "we. You are still my ideal vessel but that does not change the fact that this body," he motioned to Jo's form, "is the one i inhabit. If I were to change vessels now, she would not survive and I would be weakened severely for longer than we have time for."

Michael turned around and walked down the hallway. Dean watched him go, fighting to remain upright as he stared at the swishing hem of his coat. It was Jo, Jo Harvelle had taken the burden he could not. Part of him wanted to rant and rave and scream, to shake Michael until the Archangel fell out of the woman he had taken possession of. But he knew that it would be pointless. If he did that, if Michael abandoned Jo's body, then Jo would be dead.

The rational part of Dean said that Jo already was dead. He had watched her save him, watched her fall against an enemy neither of them stood a shot in hell against. He had screamed when she had fallen, as if his words could possibly stop the Hell Hounds that clawed at her body. He had given her the last night on earth speech, but it hadn't crossed his mind that it would be _her_ last night. He had been half sure that it would be his last night, or Sam's, or both of there's. But not Jo's. Not hers. And now she was walking away from him, her body taken by the very Archangel that he had denied.

Michael's feet slowed before they stopped entirely. Dean took a step forward towards the Archangel, his ribs aching with the movement. it was like he went from zero to sixty, from feeling nothing to feeling everything. Every bruise, every damaged limb. But it was all made inconsequential by the simple sight of what was in front of him. Of Jo Harvelle, of Michael the Archangel. Slowly his foot lifted as he placed it in front of him. The physical pain, though eclipsed by the emotional, was still there. It was hard to walk, a fact only magnified by the echo in the Church. Michael made no move to help him, but he also did not make a move to throw him across the Church. Finally Dean stood directly behind the Archangel.

"You gotta promise me she'll be alright," he said. MIchael turned around, arching an eyebrow in his direction, "_promise_ me," Dean said looking at him, "I saw Raphael's vessel, I saw what happens to the people you do this inhabiting shit to and she doesn't deserve it."

"What you saw was the remnant of an overzealous Archangel who felt it necessary to make his presence known to everyone in a five mile radius."

"And I'm just supposed to believe, after all the shit you've pulled to get me to say 'yes' that you're not like that?" Dean growled.

Michael, at the very least, had the grace to look ashamed. Eyes downcast, Dean was certain he saw a blush on Jo's cheeks. But after a moment Michael raised his eyes and met Dean's gaze squarely.

"I apologize for what happened to you in my name," he said, "and I can assure you that when this is over, she will be restored to you."

"Like how that mechanic was restored?"

"No," Michael said, "not like him. She will be as she was, all injuries healed. But right now she is too weak. If I were to leave her body she would die," he looked at him, "however my presence will heal her, with time. In return for the use of her body, I will ensure that she will come through this ordeal, at the very least, alive and aware of herself."

"You swear?" Dean demanded.

"You have my word," he said.

Dean looked down at the Archangel, his eyes searching for any kind of lie in his features. But there was none, none that he could see. Grudgingly Dean nodded finally. Michael looked at him hard for another moment before he moved his arm. Dean looked down to see Michael's gloved hand stuck between them. The Archangel was offering to shake his hand. Dean looked at the gloved hand. Was this some kind of trick? Some ploy to get into his body and leave Jo? Dean looked up at the Archangel who waited, impatience in his eyes. Dean got the feeling this was some kind of test, to see if he was the trusting type. Dean wasn't inclined to trust anyone he had just met. But the Archangel had saved Jo. He had improvised another vessel and the sick truth was that they were going to have to work together to kill Lucifer. Slowly Dean reached out and took his hand.

Warmth spread through his fingers. Dean fought to pull his hand back but the warmth spread up his arm, as Michael held his hand fast. the warmth spread across his shoulders and his chest, down his other arm until everything from his head to his toes felt as though he had drank something warm. It was an internal warmth, pleasant even. Michael withdrew his hand abruptly, though the warmth lingered in Dean. Frowning, Dean looked down at his chest. The pain in his ribs, the bruises on his hands, they were all gone. His head shot up as he looked at the Archangel, no pain in his neck from where he had slammed against the marble columns.

"You healed me?" Dean demanded.

"I believe I made my point," Michael said, "and I am tired, I have no desire to be stared down by Castiel."

Dean watched as the Archangel turned and strode down the church. Dean moved quickly forward, matching the Archangel's pace. Though Jo was smaller than him, Michael was clearly used to walking quickly and having others follow. Dean was not going to extend any such courtesy to the Archangel. He walked side by side with him to the doors of the Church. Michael strode through them and down the steps as Dean kept pace with him. By the time they reached the central pillar in the square they were almost running, Michael to make up for Jo's lack of height, Dean to establish he wasn't anyone's second--especially not Michael the Archangel.

From the grim acceptance in Sam and Castiel's eyes, they had been told what was to be expected. Both their eyes immediately went Dean, their gazes trying to figure out how he felt about the situation at hand. He walked ahead, his eyes locked somewhere behind the two of them. It was only when he reached Castiel and realized no-one was moving that he saw Michael was not moving with them. Swearing under his breath, Dean turned around to face the Archangel.

The sight that greeted him was nearly enough to bring him to his knees. His mind told him that it was Michael who stood there but everything else screamed that it was Jo. Her blond hair framed her features, the golden waves contrasting sharply with the black clothing. But everything about her, hair, cloths, skin--all of it was painted gold from the lights. Standing in the square, surrounded by images of a religion that Dean still didn't believe, Jo Harvelle looked more holy than Dean ever thought possible. Dean swallowed thickly as he looked. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the other two move. His eyes went to Gabriel and Castiel, both of whom stood with their heads bowed, looking as though they were lost in prayer.

But it was not prayer.

It was deference.

Dean's brow furrowed as he realized they were showing submission to Michael. Even Castiel who had stood up to Raphael _and_ Gabriel, to the armies of Heaven itself, he bowed his head to Michael. Gabriel as well, in spite of his rebellion, in spite of everything. But his head was lower even than Castiel's, his hands locked in front of him. Dean watched as he shifted his weight slightly, _guiltily_. Even when Cas snuck a glance upwards at Michael, Gabriel kept his eyes locked on the ground. He was acting guilty, acting for all purpose like he had overstepped some boundary, like he had done something wrong. Michael stepped forward but Dean kept his eyes on Gabriel, watching as the muscles in the Archangel's back tensed as his brother approached him.

"We must return," he said, his eyes moving over to where Dean and Sam were, "we will need to regroup."

"Yeah, and we need to get my car," Dean spoke. Michael arched an eyebrow in his direction but Dean met his gaze.

"Very well," he said, "we will go there."

"Can we fl--" Dean began but instantly they were there, "y. We gotta stop traveling this way," he looked at the three of them, "aren't you supposed to, I don't know, _fly_?!"

The three of them looked at him as though he had grown a second head. He was used to the strange look from Castiel but it was odd on Jo's face. Gabriel's was tinged with amusement but the guilt was still in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, obviously sarcastic, but one glance from Michael and he lowered his gaze to the ground like a guilty child. Michael looked at Dean, meeting the elder Winchester's eyes squarely.

"You need to get rest," he said, "you as well," he added looking at Sam, "we will stand guard."

Sam opened his mouth but Dean grabbed him.

"Yeah, fine," he said quickly, "night," he threw over his shoulder as he dragged Sam into the room.

Castiel looked between the two Archangels. The breeze that blew across the back of his neck was anything but refreshing. Time seemed to hesitate, if only for a moment, as the two Archangels looked at each other. Gabriel still could not fully meet Michael's eyes and Michael seemed too disgusted with his brother to even look at him. Though he stood there, everything inside Castiel told him he needed to get the Winchesters and put as much distance between himself and the two Archangels as possible. Just as he was about to move, about to put the plan into action, Gabirel spoke.

"Michael--" Gabriel began.

"I have no interest in what you have to say," the elder Archangel said, turning his back to Gabriel.

"Michael listen to me," Gabriel began, his voice softer for his brother.

"You had _no_ right to threaten them!" Michael shouted turning around and advancing on Gabriel, "no right at all. I don't care how sick or tired you are you do _not_ go against my orders and you certainly do not go against our fathers!"

"We thought we were helping--"

"You were disobeying and you _knew_ it! I told you this plan was foolish but you were intent on following through!" Michael bellowed, "So it is in Heaven, so it shall be on Earth--what kind of Heaven is it you seek?! A Heaven on pain and lies? That is _not_ why we were created!"

Castiel looked between the two Archangels. Though neither had raised a hand to the other, he knew it was not going to take much to bring the two of them to violence. Michael looked as though he wanted nothing more than to destroy Gabriel where he stood and the shame written on Gabriel's face was plain to anyone's eyes. It was strange, though his interactions with Jo Harvelle had been limited, but still he could not truly imagine her shouting as Michael was. A part of him wondered how Dean was taking it, how the loss of someone like her was affecting the Hunter but just as Dean was casting aside his emotions in light of the situation, Castiel recognized the need to do the same. Jo's effect on Dean was a secondary concern considering Michael seemed very close to destroying his brother.

"I know that!" Gabriel shouted, "I know, we were created to protect. To _love_ the humans," he made a sound of disgust that had Michael's eyes blazing with anger, "but we are tired of what's been happening--" he held up his hands, "I told you we were wrong. _I_ was wrong. I messed up Michael."

"No," Michael said, "you messed up when you saw fit to abandon Heaven for the debauchery you seem so content to indulge in," Gabriel looked away, "you abandoned everything you were for cheap tricks and foolery."

"I couldn't take it anymore!" Gabriel shouted, "you, Raphael--it was too much. What were you going to do? Fight for eternity?!" Michael's features contorted in rage but Gabriel glared back at him, "I left because instead of doing anything you all were just content to fight amongst yourselves--"

"Watch your tongue--" Michael cut in, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"Where were you Michael?!" Gabriel shouted, "where were you when the Seals were broken, huh?! Or how about when War was running free? Or when Death was being released?! Where _were_ you?!"

"That is not your concern!"

"Not my concern?" Gabriel laughed bitterly, "you have the _audacity_ to come here and threaten me for what I did when you abandoned us. We did not know what to do. Dad's gone and you were gone too. This is what happens when everything I've been taught--everything _we've_ been taught has to doing with being your follower. Listen to Michael. Michael know's what's best--yeah well fuck you!" Michael's eyes widened, "you weren't there so we had to do what we could to make sure when the time came, you were there."

"I will not be spoken to in this manner," Michael said, anger lacing his every word but Gabriel seemed to be past the point of caring.

"No, no _of course_ you won't be spoken to like this. Don't upset Michael. Don't talk back to Michael--" he grinned angrily, "perfect little Michael who threw his own brother out of Heave--"

There was a resounding echo, deep and loud enough to hurt even Castiel's ears and suddenly Gabriel was flying through the air. He twisted and landed on his feet but instantly Michael was there, his fist slamming into Gabriel's face. Castiel stood on the porch of the Motel, watching the two Archangels fight each other. He did not dare move from where he stood on the porch. Someone needed to ensure that the Winchesters were safe. Michael was being foolish and ruled by his emotions but the truth was that Gabriel had pushed the envelope. It was an unspoken rule in Heaven that you did not bring up Michael casting Lucifer out of Heaven. It was ironic, really, that that was what Gabriel had said since it was him that began the rule.

Things in Heaven had degraded past a level that Castiel was even aware of. It did not take long for Michael to gain the upper hand in the fight. Castiel watched them carefully. Even in the space of an hour the similarities between Michael and Dean were more than obvious. Both so full of self loathing, so unable to let the world in, so _determined_ to do what they considered the 'right' thing. While he was not foolish enough to believe that Michael and Dan acting as one vessel was the best course of action, he was able to see that there were going to be problems with the two of them working together. Castiel glanced behind him at the doors before he moved his gaze back to where Gabriel and Michael had been fighting moments before. Now Michael stood, towering over the other Archangel, tension filling every line of the body he had taken as his own.

The Archangel reached down and picked Gabriel up. He let his brother's feet drag on the ground as he walked back, his steps slow and measured. He carried no marks on himself from the fight, though neither did Gabriel save for his unconscious state. The sound of his shoes dragging against the asphalt of the parking lot made the hairs on the back of Castiel's neck stand up. At times it was easy to forget that he inhabited a vessel but watching the two of them approach him, two Archangels he once would have cut his wings off to converse with, it was a painful reminder of just how different things were. Michael stepped onto the porch and dragged Gabriel over to the wall, lowering him onto the ground. He stepped back, his gaze locked on the unconscious form of Gabriel.

"I apologize that you had to see that," he said finally. Castiel said nothing as Michael turned around and looked at him, "your disobedience was surprising, Castiel. Reports always said you were very good at following orders."

"My time in this vessel has changed me," Castiel said, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"Do you fear me, Castiel?" Michael asked, moving forward until Castiel's ground-locked eyes saw the toes of his boots, "or do you fear what I will do to you for your disobedience?"

Castiel's eyes widened but when he raised his head his features gave away nothing. No anger, no sadness, nothing was in his face except the serenity that Angels were masters of. Michael met his gaze squarely, none of the earlier anger in his eyes. Only Gabriel's form served as evidence of Michael's earlier loss of control.

"I am not afraid of what you will do to me," Castiel said finally, his eyes moving to Gabriel before they went back to Michael, "I did not disobey your orders nor did I disobey our father's wishes."

"No," Michael said after a moment, "you did not," he looked at Gabriel and then at Castiel, "and we have much larger things to worry about," he sighed, "I apologize but I cannot restore you to Heaven, not yet. My presence must remain a secret for as long as I can keep it that way."

"I understand," Castiel said.

Michael nodded and walked over to Gabriel. He knelt down next to his brother and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Gabriel's brow. Castiel watched as Gabriel's features tightened before his eyes snapped open. Michael drew back but made no move to get up as Gabriel looked over at him.

"Ow!" the other Archangel exclaimed, "I know you're pissed but _ow_!" he rubbed his jaw, "what the hell'd you need to do that for?!"

Michael ignored him and got to his feet. But he did extend a hand downward. Gabriel glared up at him for a moment before he sighed and reached forward, grabbing Michael's hand and pulling himself to his feet. The two of them approached the porch rail as Castiel watched them, feeling completely out of place. He had no idea what to say or how to act around the two of them, especially not in light of the fact that Michael was implying something else was going on. So Castiel settled for lacing his fingers together and joining the two of them in silence.

Inside the motel room Sam was doing the exact same thing.

Dean was sitting on the bed, headphones jammed into his ears as he gripped a whetstone in one hand and a knife in the other. The sound of blade on stone was oddly complimented by the pounding echoes of Dean's music. The rational part of Sam wanted to tell his brother he was going to go deaf if he kept listening to his music as loudly as he did, but the idea of scolding him as he was seemed unfathomable to him. Dean seemed lost as he looked at the knife, or maybe he was too overwhelmed to focus on any one thing.

Sam knew it would be a very long time before he forgot the look in his brother's eyes when he stepped out of the shower. Dean's lips had been tinged blue, the drops on his skin had clearly been ice cold but it seemed like _none_ of it had made it past the numbness. And when he walked out of the Church, the acceptance in his eyes was enough to make every warning bell Sam had go off. Now Dean was sitting there lost in the work of sharpening a knife Sam had a feeling would be worn thin by the time he was finished with it. Sam almost wished that Dean would make some snarky comment about his ease with trusting demons, just to let him know that he was still there, still fighting.

Sam looked instead at the bag in front of him, the one full of weapons that needed to be cleaned. He should clean, he knew, the guns might be useless against Lucifer for actually killing him but the shots from the Colt had slowed him down, even if it had only been for a minute. He knew what he should do, but what he did instead was grab the cell phone nearby and get to his feet. Dean was too lost to notice as he walked into the bathroom with the phone clutched in his hand and stepped inside. Locking the door he turned the faucet and shower on before he punched in the numbers, pacing around the confining space like a caged animal. It only took two rings for the number to connect.

"Yeah?" Bobby questioned gruffly, his voice hoarse over the phone.

"Bobby, Bobby its Sam--"

"I know who it is," the former Hunter snapped. Sam winced at the short tone, though he knew where it came from. Bobby had lost two people he cared deeply about, people that he had fought besides, people he hadn't expected to loose so soon, "well?" he demanded, "what do you want."

"Gabriel came to us," Sam said.

"That Son of a Bi--"

"He brought us to Rome," Sam cut him off, "he said Michael wanted to talk to Dean."

"Shit," Bobby swore, "that mean's he's found another vessel," Bobby let out a gruff sigh, "well that's good, I guess. So where is he now?"

"Right outside," Sam said, "but that's not why I'm calling."

"Sam, I've had a rough couple of days, I'm not in the mood to play Twenty Questions. Just spit it out."

"His vessel is Jo," Sam said, pulling the phone away from his ear.

"His vessel is who?!" Bobby bellowed, his voice clear even though the phone was an arm's length from Sam's ear, "that miserable Son of a Bitch! You bring him here and we're going to exorcise his sorry ass out of her and back to Hell!"

Sam winced at the furious exclamation. Slowly he brought the phone back at a pause, placing it cautiously against his ear.

"Bobby its not that simple," he said, "Gabriel told us that if Michael gets through this in one piece, if we _all_ get through this in once piece, then he's going to give Jo her life back."

Silence greeted his ear.

Sam knew Bobby was furious, beyond furious even at what had happened. But he was probably even more pissed that the Archangel had decided to take Jo over. Rationally Sam knew that Jo had been given a choice, but he had a feeling her decision had a lot more to do with protecting Dean than actual free will. But Bobby, who had just had her and Ellen ripped away from him, he wasn't going to see it that way. All he was going to see was an Archangel who had once again fucked with one of them. Still, Sam had to figure that the person Bobby was most pissed with was himself. It wasn't his fault that he had been at home instead of fighting alongside them, but that was just it. He had been at home. Sam knew that there hadn't been anything Bobby could have done to change the course of action, but he also knew that Bobby wasn't going to see it that way. He was going to torture himself over the fact that he wasn't there, over the possibility that he could have changed how things played out.

"Listen," Sam said, trying to keep his voice low and calm, "I need you to research how we could put Death back in his grave. Any way. We've got more power this time but we're flying blind," Bobby said nothing, "please, Bobby?"

"Fine," Bobby said finally, his voice still angry, "but you tell him if he hurts so much as a hair on her head, I'm going to kill him. I don't care what kind of Archangel he is."

"I'll pass that along," Sam said, "thanks Bobby."

Bobby made a rough sound before he hung up. Sam closed the phone, taking a deep breath and letting his eyes shut. Surrounded by the sound of water, he tried to focus on the smallest bit of soothing emotion he felt. He knew that Jo and Dean had liked each other--liked each other a great deal more than either would say--but he had known that his brother wasn't a 'romance' kind of guy. Even if Jo wasn't really the romantic type either, he knew it was going to take a miracle for the two of them to get together, even before she had sacrificed herself to save them all. He knew it would take a miracle.

He just hadn't expected to actually _get_ one.

* * *

**So the crew's together! That Impala's gonna get awful crowded, especially if Dean gets the Angels to stop transporting them. Now I wanted to show the hierarchy in Heaven and Castiel ranks far below Michael and Gabriel, but Michael outranks Gabriel. Also, Michael's little freak out is going to be explained, as is Gabriel's loud mouth that gets him into a LOT of trouble. **

**Please review! You guys (and gals) were awesome last chapter and I hope you continue to be when it comes to reviewing! The faster you review, the faster I'll update!**

**So review!**

**(please)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay so a few answers for everyone:**

**Michael is going to remain a 'he'. I want to make it very clear that the spirit inhabiting Jo is drastically different, as in male different. Also, in those scene coming up when Jo is, well, Jo, I want there to be a distinction..**

**Which leads me to YES JO IS GOING TO BE IN THIS. Not Michael/Jo, just Jo. I'm not saying how or why or what's going to happen but she'll be here within the next 3 chapters. **

**Yes I plan to explore where Michael was, what the conflict with the other Angels is and why he's so angry. **

**Oh and as of right now I've got no plans for slash. **

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* * *

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In the first minuets of the morning, those blissful moments spent in the space between sleep and true wakefulness, Dean could pretend it was a dream.

Not just that Michael was inhabiting Jo's body, no, pretend farther than that. Pretend that Jo was alive and well and rocking out to REO. Pretend that Bobby was walking and Sam had enough sense to know that a demon was bad news. He could pretend that Ellen was alive and hey, maybe he could take it back another step to where Dad was still around. But it was only in those last moments before he opened his eyes. Because then he did that, then the dawn light hit his eyeballs and he saw the three figures standing outside the room. The two distinctly masculine shapes and the one far more feminine one, contours of her body lost to the shape of the leather.

Dean groaned and rolled onto his back, flinging his forearm over his eyes in a failed attempt to return to the place of peace. But the place did not come back. He remained where he was. It was strange and impossible to think of what happened, of the idea that Michael was there, real and truly there, it was a hard one to deal with. He had a feeling that the Archangel would find a way to join the battle, he just had always thought that it would be through _him_. That stomach cancer thing was just painful enough a few more rounds of it and he was sure he'd say yes. Or if they hurt Sam----

Dean knew if they hurt Sam there wasn't anything he wouldn't do to save him. He had sworn that he'd save Sam, save him in any way that he could. But sometimes, usually at the worst times, he thought of the other people. People like Bobby, people like Jo. People who _he_ was supposed to be able to protect. His Dad had managed to protect more than one person but each time Dean tried to do it, they just were ripped away. Cas got blown to hell and Ellen, God, even if Jo was somehow there he had a feeling that there wasn't enough of Ellen to even bury properly. At least Castiel had found a way back, though Dean knew it wasn't a way the Angel was inclined to talk about. And now Jo was back as well, though from what Michael said she was still too close to death.

Dean let his arm drop and sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Running a hand over his face he leaned his elbows on his knees and let out a breath. Dean still didn't know how he felt about Jo. Sure he thought of her as someone who needed to be protected but that didn't change the fact that their first meeting had her slamming her fist into his nose even after _he_ became the one holding the gun. Sometimes Dean would say she annoyed the hell out of him, like Sammy tended to do. But other times, other times she would fix him with this look that seemed to cut past all the bullshit he surrounded himself with. And she would smile. Usually when people got past that, when they saw what he really was, they looked at him with sadness, fear or, worst of all, pity. But not her. She would just smile at him and even if he hated to admit it, in those moments Dean felt like maybe he wasn't a bad person. Like maybe he _could_ actually pull everything off, save the world, save his brother, get the girl.

The image of that smile was quickly replaced in his head with the image of her holding him up, the look in her eye so alien and furious that there was no doubt Jo Harvelle was far _far_ away. The bitch of it was that Dean knew shed agreed to it. There hadn't been time for the bullshit they'd pulled with him. They had barely made it out of the alleyway and Dean had seen Jo's eyes going bleery even as he kissed her. Truthfully he doubted she'd survived that long. But Michael had offered and she'd agreed and the thought made Dean sick. He'd wondered what kind of sorry bastard would let an Angel take over their bodies, sorry bastards like Jimmy Novak who was religious enough to walk into the light, leaving his wife and daughter behind. But now he knew, it wasn't sorry bastards, it was people who wanted to help. Jimmy might have wanted to help Castiel, wanted to help God or something like that. He knew though that Jo had wanted to fight, that if there was one person she had wanted to help, it was him.

Jo Harvelle had done this to save him.

The thought was crippling. He knew Sam would do something like that, hell he half expected him to. But Jo, Jo had nothing to do with their pact of saving the other when the world said they couldn't. And yet she had willingly given up her body to keep fighting. Rationally Dean knew she had nothing to loose. It wasn't like she was going to say no and walk away to live to fight another day. It was either she said 'yes' or she got blown up with her mother. Even with that rationality, it was still hard for him to believe she had actually done what she did. Dean had known for a while that he didn't like it when Sam put himself in harms way to save him but other people doing it, that was the worst.

"Dean?"

Dean looked up, surprised to see one figure had drawn away from the other two. Though there was no reason he should have heard Cas's voice, he knew the Angel wanted to talk to him. Dean knew that they needed to talk. It was pretty bad that Michael and Gabriel were here, but the two of them outranked Castiel like he and Sam outranked the newbie hunters. Standing up Dean yanked on a pair of jeans, kicked on his boots and grabbed his jacket before walking out of the room. Closing the door behind him he glanced at Michael and Gabriel, but neither Archangel looked at him. Shrugging on his jacket he found Cas's form halfway down the lot. Dean ran his hand through his hair before he took off towards the Angel. Unlike his brethren, Castiel waited patiently for Dean to get to where he was. Dean stopped in front of the Angel.

"You called?" he asked sarcastically.

"Yes," Castiel said, his tone formal.

"Cas," Dean said warningly, "don't go all Angelic on me here."

"How can I not be Angelic?" Castiel asked, the odd note of confusion that Dean had been hearing less and less of present in his voice.

"Nevermind," Dean said looking behind him at the motel, "so, Michael and Gabriel are here."

"You are dealing with it better than expected," Castiel said.

"Yeah, well," Dean shrugged, "don't got much of a choice, do I?"

"That was not how you sounded a day ago," Castiel said.

Dean looked away from the Angel. Castiel stared at the eldest Winchester, the oddest feeling of concern bubbling inside him. It anyone it seemed that Dean was upset but resigned to the events occurring but Castiel knew him better than that. Dean Winchester was not a man to resign himself and certainly not lightly. He followed Dean's gaze to the figures standing guard at the motel doorway. Gabriel was one thing, a figure they had dealt with before, someone they had converted to their cause. But Michael, that was someone new, an Archangel that had given Dean no reason to like him. Who had given neither of them a reason to trust him. Worse, if Michael's actions last night were any indication, there was discord in Heaven that Castiel had not been aware of.

There was fighting amongst the Archangels.

This was a problem for many reasons, if for nothing else than the fact that the superiors influence those they had power over. When the Archangel's fight it took very little for the rest of the Heavenly chorus to join in. Michael, Lucifer--they had established themselves as the two main sides but Angels had sided with their favorites. Raphael, Zachariah, all of them had their own sides as well, though they had still aligned themselves with Michael. Those who had sided with Lucifer and his kind were cast out as well. With Judgement Day on its way, the last thing that they needed were divisions in Heaven. That was the one thing that they could not afford.

"I learned last night that Michael has been absent from Heaven," Castiel said, meeting's Dean gaze when the Hunter looked at him, "its highly unlikely he's taken a vessel which means he's been on earth but unable to interact."

"Searching," Dean said, "he's been searching for something," he looked over his shoulder, "with all the shit that's been going down it'd be easy for him to slip by as long as he didn't cause so much trouble."

"Exactly," Castiel, "I believe he was searching for either God or Lucifer."

"Lucifer?" Dean demanded, "why the hell would he be running around looking for Lucifer if he doesn't have a vessel?"

"You forget, Dean, that Lucifer and Michael were brothers--are brothers."

"Yeah, you all are one big happy family," Dean said with a snort.

"No," Castiel said, "but the Archangels consider themselves brothers. They fought like brothers--but they loved each other like brothers as well," he looked over at the two figures, "that relationship is not going to go away."

"So you're saying that Michael what? Loves Lucifer?" Dean snorted, "the guy's gone through a lot of crap to make sure he beats him down, he doesn't sound like the brotherly type."

"Shortly after Lucifer's banishment," Castiel said, "Gabriel made a rule in Heaven. We were not to speak of Lucifer, especially not to Michael," Castiel paused, "last night Gabriel broke that rule and Michael beat him into unconsciousness."

"So you're telling me Michael's really some warped kind of overprotective brother?" Dean demanded, "I thought you Angels had trouble with this emotional stuff."

"Human emotions," Castiel said, "and while it is more," he frowned, looking for the word he needed, "complicated than that," he continued, "we must remember that in Michael's presence the situation is anything but simple."

"You don't have to tell me," Dean said. Castiel looked at him curiously, "yeah, lets just say Michael's a decent healer and leave it at that."

Castiel was surprised at the protectiveness and anger that roared up in him. He had noticed nothing about Dean's physical state when he let the church with Michael, he had been far too concerned with his emotional one. But now he realized that he should have assumed that there would be violence on Michael's part. Dean probably had not helped matters but he doubted he deserved what Michael did to him. The greatest warrior in Heaven, Michael's skill had been thought to only be challenged by Lucifer but since his defeat, Michael as unmatched. It made sense that he would resort to violence. Castiel had no doubt that he would have been killed once more if he had intervened, but in hindsight he realized the impulse had been there. Castiel was still not sure how he felt about having such impulses.

"You need to be careful when you speak to him," Castiel said looking at Dean.

"You want me to sugar coat my words for Heaven's most badass warrior?" Dean snorted, "cute, Cas, but it ain't gonna happen."

"Dean I'm serious," Castiel said, "your emotions override your survival instinct but this is not the time to fall prey to such things," he stepped closer to Dean.

"Cas," Dean looked at his shoes and then at him, "personal space, remember?"

Cas took a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets in what Dean was beginning to think was a nervous gesture. Dean sighed and looked over his shoulders at the sight of Michael and Gabriel. They had moved, or Gabriel had. He was motioning emphatically as Michael stood with his arms crossed. Even far away, Dean recognized the look on his face. Jo had given him that look before, that look of disbelief mixed with confusion and tainted with disbelief, even a little amusement. Dean let out a breath as he looked at the two Archangels standing there.

"You care for her," Castiel said. Dean's eyes moved to the Angel, "I have seen that look on your face, denying it will only hinder your acceptance of the fact."

"I--" Dean sighed and shoved his hands into the warm pockets of his coat, "be quiet Cas."

Back in the motel room, Sam lay on the bed and tried to find answers in the cheap, uneven concrete of the ceiling.

Unsurprisingly it offered him nothing. Just rough concrete. Sam shifted slightly against the cheap sheets of the motel. He hadn't slept last night, not one wink. Every time he had closed his eyes, every time he had started to drift he had been jerked into wakefulness. But the instant before that happened, he would smell sulfur. Sam wasn't an idiot, he knew what that smell was. What scared him was that no warning bells went off. He smelled it and it didn't bother him, not one little bit. If anything the smell was strangely not frightening. If he had to name the emotion--though he wished to do anything else with it--he would say it was comfort. The sulfuric smell would reach his nostrils and to Sam it seemed like it was welcoming him home.

There were other changes as well.

Salty foods were inedible to him and foods that had even a bit of the stuff had him running for the nearest water fountain. He could still hold weapons and fight demons but he had a feeling that if he tried to wear any sort of amulet it wasn't going to go well. He had yet to feel the lack of food in his Hunts but he knew that wasn't going to stay that way for long. Sam reached down, scratching at an itch on his chest. His eyes remained on the ceiling as he lay on the bed. He half wished he could be naive enough not to know what the physical changes meant. Maybe if it was one he could dismiss it but there were just too many to deny. Like pieces of a puzzle they were falling into place, but Sam already knew what the picture on the box showed.

Frowning Sam craned his neck downwards at the itchy spot on his chest.

His eyes widened as he saw the tattoo to ward off possession. His fingers had scratched hard enough to break the skin, leaving three red lines through the center of the sigil, a shorter line marring the outer lines. Sam's eyes widened at the blood that painted the black lines. Slowly he withdrew his hand, holding it up to his face. There was only a little bit of blood, just on his nail, but it was obvious. Sam looked at the blood on his fingertips, half expecting it to drip down onto his face, into his mouth like the blood had when he was a child. Like Ruby's blood had when he was an adult.

Jerking himself back into reality, Sam sat up. Angrily he wiped his hand across the bedsheet, wiping the last bit of blood before he shrugged on his shirt. Shakily, Sam sighed and sat on the edge of his bed as the door opened. His eyes rose to meet the cocky ones of the Archangel. Gabriel peered inside, his eyes landing on Sam's form. Sam winced at the confirmation that yesterday hadn't been a dream. Gabriel smirked as he looked at Sam, obviously amused by the disgust on the younger Winchester's face.

"Yo, Apocalypse Now, I gotta go force feed Michael. You wanna come hold his arms down?"

"What?" Sam demanded, his eyes wide with shock.

"You heard me. Get dressed if you wanna get fed," Gabriel said closing the door.

It took Sam a moment to pull on his boots before he got to his feet and crossed the room. Reaching out he pulled the door open. But the sight that greeted him was anything but what he wanted to see. Gabriel was standing there, his profile showing to Sam. Sam peered out the door to see Michael walking away from him, purpose in his every stride.

"Come on man!" Gabriel shouted, throwing his hands up. He sighed and turned to Sam, "well that could've gone better," he said wiping his hands on his pants, "you still want breakfast? I'm starving."

"You're asking me to go to breakfast with you?" Sam repeated, looking incredulously at the Archangel.

"Cool it, Samantha, you ain't that cute. I'm hungry and, lets face it, in no position to leave you alone. I'm trying to be nice and ask but we both know that in about five seconds I'm going to transport us to the nearest diner whether you want to eat or not."

"No-no I'm up for eating," Sam said stepping out, "lets just walk, how about that?"

"Fine," Gabriel sighed waving his hand, "lets walk. You have no idea how much I miss my wings right now," he muttered as Sam fell into step behind him.

The two of them walked across the road and into the small town. Gabriel seemed to know where he was going which left Sam little choice but to fall in line behind him. Though warning bells went off in his head, telling him that he need to get as far away from the Archangel, he pushed himself forward anyway. What if the hesitance, what if it was a symptom of the changes? Ignoring it he forced himself to walk with the Archangel to the diner. Gabriel did not say a word as he walked, to anyone else they would have looked like two friends out to breakfast.

Gabriel pushed open the door to the diner, a small bell alerting everyone to their presence. Sam stepped into the darkness of the diner. It looked as outdated as everything else in the town, just a little wrong, just a little _off_. Gabriel didn't seem off put in the slightest as he shifted his weight and looked into the dim light. A moment later a pretty waitress came hurrying out, her smile bright and friendly as she looked at the two of them.

"Hi there! Why don't you boys sit anywhere and I'll come back with some menus?"

"Thanks," Gabriel said as Sam smiled and nodded before he followed the Archangel into the booth.

The woman came over to them a moment later, placing menus in front of them.

"Rough night?" she asked looking at them with the same friendly smile, "you boy look as though you could use some coffee."

"Sweetheart, have _no_ idea," Gabriel said.

She smiled and turned, walking back to get their coffees. Gabriel picked up the menu and perused it, his eyes moving across the offerings. Sam laid his hand over his menu but he found it difficult to look at the food. It was just so strange to think that he was sitting in a diner eating breakfast with Gabriel the Archangel. Gabriel's face was hidden by the menu but when he lowered it and their eyes locked, the Archangel raised an eyebrow as he looked Sam up and down.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," Sam said looking away before he looked back at him, "its just, this is weird."

"Yeah, no kidding," Gabriel smirked, "you and your brother seem to land in a lot of shit huh?" Sam raised a skeptical eyebrow, "yeah I know, I ain't exactly one to talk," the waitress came back, "chocolate chip pancakes, whip creme," Gabriel ordered.

"Eggs and toast," Sam said, "please."

"Coming right up," she said turning and walking off.

"So," Gabriel said with a grin, "which TV show was your favorite?"

"Excuse me?" Sam stared at him.

"Oh I get it, you want to pretend like I didn't completely fuck you over," the Archangel laughed, "bad plan, buttercup. Letting shit stew, its never a good idea. Here, I'll go first. My favorite TV show," he considered it for a moment, "I got it. Japanese Game show. Your face," he laughed, "now _that_ was what I call great tv."

Sam glared at him, failing to see the humor in him being slammed in the nuts by a brightly colored ball.

"Alright," he shifted looking at Gabriel, "whose older. You or Michael?"

Gabriel looked at him and for a second he thought the Archangel was going to tell him to go screw himself but much to his surprise, Gabriel sighed and looked back at him.

"Michael," he said, "and when he's being a dick--like now--he never lets you forget it," Sam smirked at that, "what?"

"Its just, Dean sometimes does that too," he said toying with the sugar packet he held, "so its Michael, Lucifer then who?"

"Then me," Gabriel said, "then Raphael and we go down the line from there," the waitress returned with their plates and coffees, "thanks," Gabriel said with a bright smile in her direction.

She smiled and set the plates down. Gabriel immediately started into his pancakes as Sam slowly began to eat the eggs set in front of him.

Neither man paid much attention to the door that opened behind them, the bell chiming into the recesses of the shop. Nor did they listen to the sound of the boots that walked across the cheap tiles, purpose echoing in every step. Sam glanced up at one point, more to look at Gabriel but the figure caught his eye. Though he knew he had never seen the man before, he also knew that the familiarity was unmistakable. Blond hair, slicked back from handsome features and skin that seemed to never have seen the sun, the ominous presence was only heightened by the black jacket and dark jeans that clad his body. Sam nudged Gabriel who gave no sign of responding as the man strode over to their table, stopping in front of them. Sam looked at the man but Gabriel did not.

"Where is he?" he asked, his voice heavily accented.

"Yeah," Gabriel snorted, "like I'm gonna tell you," he looked at the man witheringly, "why don't you go fuck yourself and come back when the Apocalypse is averted?"

The man looked away before he looked at Gabriel once more.

"I need to speak to him," he said, his voice low.

"No," Gabriel said putting down his fork, "no you know what you need to do is apologize," the man arched an eyebrow, "you know who this is," Gabriel said nodding to Sam, "so why don't you look him in the eye and say 'I'm sorry I was such an unbelievable _dick',_" the man's eyes narrowed, as if Gabriel had insulted him, but he still showed deference. The same kind of deference that Sam had watched Castiel and Gabriel show Michael, "well?"

The blond man turned to Sam.

"I apologize for my behavio--" Gabriel cleared his throat loudly, obviously, "I'm sorry I was such an unbelievable dick," the blond man said.

"Okay," Sam said slowly, his eyes moving helplessly to Gabriel, "who is he?"

"Oh, right," Gabriel said getting to his feet and taking a last bite of the pancake, "Sam Winchester, meet the Archangel Raphael. Raphael, meet Sam Winchester," he swallowed, "now. Why don't you give me a reason why I shouldn't either send your sorry ass back to Heaven or, I don't know, trap you in a ring of Holy Fire until this little debacle ends?"

"Neither," Raphael said, "I must speak to Michael. I know he is here and I have urgent news from Heaven," Gabriel arched an eyebrow expectantly, "the message is for Michael's ears only but if I do not speak to him, if he does not listen to me, then the Judgement Day suddenly seem so eager to stop _will_ happen--sooner than any of us could have predicted."

Gabriel looked him up and down before he stepped forward.

"You try _anything_ and I swear, you'll be watching God's return from a very warm seat."

* * *

**Okay! So now just so you know, as of Wednesday I'm going to be off for thanksgiving and that means no updates. However, I'm hoping to have 1-2 chapters PAST this one up by then. I'm going to try and take this story to the point where Jo (real Jo) comes into the picture. **

**Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

"You gotta be kidding me."

Castiel did not look at Dean. His eyes remained on the building in front of him. Though there was really nothing terribly auspicious about the public library they stood in front of, Castiel knew that the building had been inexplicably changed forever by the single presence that existed within its walls. Dean shifted on the balls of his feet as he turned his gaze to from the building to Castiel. He was slightly confused as to why Michael would come to this place. Castiel had told him Gabriel and Sam were out to breakfast but that Michael was gone. Ten minutes later he told him that MIchael was at the public library. Dean couldn't help but feel as though Heaven's most badass warrior was jerking them around.

"Michael is inside," he said.

"Okay, great," Dean said, "lets go wrangle an Angel."

"Archangel," Castiel corrected automatically, "and not 'we', you," he looked at Dean.

"Me?" Dean looked at the Angel incredulously, "why me?" Castiel raised his eyebrows, "because Michael wants to talk to me," Castiel just continued to look at him, "alright, alright fine," he threw up his hands, "I'll go grab the overly dramatic, homicidal Angel."

He walked into the library.

It took Dean's eyes a moment to adjust to the dim interior of the library. It was small town joint, there couldn't be more than a thousand books in the place. Dean inhaled as he looked around the single room, divided only by books. He had always had a peculiar feeling about libraries. It was strange to think that almost any answer could be found somewhere in a book--usually a book concealed in places like this. It was unsettling as hell to think that there were answers hidden behind the spines pointing towards each other. Dean walked forward into the confines of the room, wincing as his boots echoed on the floor.

It did not take long to find the Archangel, certainly not as long as Dean would have liked. He found Michael sitting at an otherwise empty table, a single book open and in front of him. For a second Dean thought it was Jo, just for a second, just until reality slammed back into him. Dean walked next to him, his eyes moving across the page in front of him. The book was open to a single spread, on one page lay the description of the image, on the other the image itself. Dean looked at the picture and despite the anger he still felt, he couldn't help but smile at the irony of the image depicted there.

Michael defeating Lucifer.

Michael sat there, his eyes on the image. His hands were loose on either side of the book, nothing showing how the image actually affected him. Dean stood beside the Archangel. Part of him wanted to interrupt whatever the hell he was doing but for some reason Dean didn't talk. Breaking the silence in the library, it seemed wrong somehow. Though his eyes did not move from the image in front of him, Dean knew that Michael was aware of his presence. He also knew the Archangel couldn't pretend he didn't want Dean there, he had, after all, disappeared completely only to let Castiel know where he was. After another tense moment of silence, Michael spoke.

"I will remember that day," Michael said, "for all the years I exist, in all the forms I exist, that day I shall always remember."

"Yeah," Dean said looking at the Archangel, "if history remembered me looking that much like a chick I'd be pissed too," Michael glared at him, "and if I had to throw my brother out of Heaven--" Dean stopped, "what are you doing here? Aren't we on a time limit? Some kind of Apocalypse countdown?"

"Yes," Michael said, moving finally, seemingly becoming aware of himself as he closed the book and laid his hand on top of it, "our first priority must be the containment of Death."

"Yeah, big daddy Reaper," Dean said. Michael nodded, "well? How do we do that? How do we kill Death?"

"We cannot kill Death," Michael said. as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, "merely contain him. Great violence releases Death, great violence removes him."

"No," Dean said. Michael gave him a look of disbelief, "I'm not putting more people in danger. There's gotta be another way."

"Your concern is touching," Michael said, "but we are past the point where a few lives are going to make a difference."

Dean looked at the Archangel in disbelief. He had known that MIchael was something of a 'for the grater good' kind of guy but if what he was saying was true then it was going to take a lot of people to put Death back where he belonged--too many people. Still the Archangel looked at him cooly, his gaze giving nothing away. It was unsettling as hell to see that, To see that coldness on Jo's face. Even when she was mad enough to show him how upset she was, Jo had never looked _cold_, certainly not as cold as Michael did staring back at him. Dean shifted against the hard surface of the chair as he looked at the cold, unapologetic look on Michael's face.

He missed Jo.

Things had gone from zero to sixty to fast that it hadn't struck Dean until he sat there that the blond girl had actually wormed her way into his heart. Not in some sappy chick flick kind of way but Dean realized that if she was alive somewhere in the world he probably wouldn't have minded running into her again. Even if her REO infatuation was kind of stupid, that smile she gave when she thought of the Hunters with their six packs and sides of Led Zeppelin was actually kind of cute. Dean gritted his teeth together. Now was _not_ the time to be thinking about Jo's smile or how when REO came on the radio he would always think of her. It never seemed to be the right time but right now was probably the worst time of all.

"Look," he said finally, "we're just going to have to find another way. I'm not letting you throw innocent people to this guy to put him back in his box."

"You are a fool then," Michael said, "if Death does not return to his grave then they are as good as dead. Death will stop, but only when there are no more people roaming this Earth."

"Last time he missed a few," Dean snapped.

"Those were my Father's chosen," Michael snarled, "they had the help of God."

"Yeah, well, in case it escaped your notice God's not exactly here right now," Michael's nostrils flared as he stared at the Hunter, anger in his eyes but Dean barreled on, "so we have _you_. Now we gotta figure out a way to save a hell of a lot more than two people."

The rage fled so quickly from Michael's face it was alarming even to Dean. At the statement that God was missing, that Michael was the best thing they had, the hopelessness in his eyes was enough to make Dean freeze. The look was only there for a moment but in that moment it seemed as if Michael was more human and more broken than Dean thought he would ever be. the sadness in Michael's eyes was profound, as if he was little more than a lost child searching desperately for his father. The fingers that lay on the book, gripping the edges of it in a failed search for comfort. Just as quickly as it had come though, the look was gone and the face that looked back at him was one of nothing but confidence and self assurance. The hands that lay on the book relaxed, neatly withdrawing from its grip from the worn edges.

Slowly Michael got to his feet. It crossed Dean's mind to ask the Archangel if he was alright but the words couldn't seem to make it out of his mouth. Michael's hand lingered on the edge of the book, his fingers brushing against the surface as if the pads of his fingers could memorize the lines of the painting. His fingers pressed sharply into the surface then, anger ingrained in the gesture. He grabbed the book and turned around, placing it onto the book cart. He looked up at Dean, the coldness back in his eyes.

"Lets go," he said turning around and walking down the aisle.

Dean strode after the Archangel as they walked to the front of the library and out onto the steps. Michael stopped abruptly and Dean barely managed to keep himself from colliding with him. Before he could ask what was going on he saw the new figure standing with Sam, Gabriel and Castiel. Though he knew he had never seen the blond man before, he would recognize the look in his eyes anywhere. That coldness, tinged with the barest traces of guilt and indifference, it was unmistakable.

"Raphael," Dean looked over at Michael, "Michael?" the Archangel seemed almost to be trembling with rage.

The Archangel strode forward. Dean stepped forward but Michael was already halfway towards Raphael. Despite his claims of the Archangels wanting the same thing, of their weariness and decision to facilitate the Apocalypse, it was clear that Michael was anything but united with him. He was walking towards Raphael, intent echoing with every step. Gabriel's features were heavy with shock before jerked into motion and ran forward, running past Raphael to where Michael was moving towards Raphael.

"Dean stay there!" Casteil shouted.

"Michael--Michael _no_!" Gabriel shouted grabbing the Archangel's arm, "Michael!"

Michael turned, glaring at Gabriel but he made no move towards violence, as though unwilling to show any lack of control to Raphael. Gabriel held Michael's upper arm, his larger, masculine hand fitting easily around the fabric covered skin. Michael turned his head towards Gabriel, their eyes locking. Gabriel's jaw moved but he didn't speak, trying to communicate as best he could without words. That or trying to find the right ones. Michael tore his eyes from Gabriel's and looked at Raphael, Jo's features contorted in rage at the sight of the Archangel.

"Michael," Gabriel spoke, his voice low, "he says he's got news, from Heaven."

"He claims to have word from Heaven and you would believe him?" Michael demanded, his voice low and angry, "he who has committed the most grievous of crimes?"

"Michael please," Gabriel said, "we have bigger things to deal with. When the time comes, Raphael will stand trial for his crimes but if he has new from Heaven--"

"Why are you so anxious to hear what Heaven has to say all of a sudden?" Michael questioned.

"I'm not. But you are. We need to hear what he has to say."

For a second it seemed that Michael wasn't going to listen. That all he was going to do was beat the living crap out of Raphael, though he probably wasn't going to extend to him the same healing he extended to Gabriel. Gabriel didn't shy away from Michael. He remained there, his arm gripping Michael's as he searched his brother's face for any sign of what he was going to do. Finally Michael's gaze broke. Exhaling the Archangel stepped away from Gabriel and looked at Raphael. The Archangel looked up at him but there was the same deference in his eyes that had been in Castiel and Gabriel's eyes when they first were with Michael.

"I will hear what you have to say," Michael said, "but if so much as a word of it is a plea or an apology, I give you my word that there will be no trial for your crimes."

Raphael gave a short nod of understanding. Michael walked off, Raphael following him. Gabriel watched the two of them go but made no move to follow, remaining standing halfway between Sam and Castiel and Dean. Slowly he turned and walked up to Dean. Castiel nodded to Sam and the two walked over to where Dean was standing.

"You ain't joining the Angelic powwow?" Dean asked looking at Gabriel.

"Yeah," Gabriel said, tone heavy with sarcasm, "cause when we leave Thursday, Apocalypse Now and you alone _great_ things happen," he clapped his hands together, "hope this doesn't take too long, I'm still hungry as hell!" the three of them gaped at him, "what? An Archangel can't say 'hell'? Geez, its _just_ an expression."

Sam looked at the two Archangels standing far away and the one standing nearby. He frowned and looked at Castiel, Michael's words echoing in over and over in his mind. Raphael had helped to start the Apocalypse and while that was something Michael wasn't thrilled with, it seemed that he was _too_ angry for it to simply be that. Even in the distance, Raphael was clearly unnerved by his superior and Michael still looked as though he wanted to destroy Raphael. But he was held back, by pride if nothing else. Sam realized that Michael didn't want to show any kind of weakness to the other Archangel. His loss of emotional control seemed to be something Gabriel alone was privy to.

"What crime did he commit?" Sam asked. Gabriel arched an eyebrow in his direction, "Michael said he committed a crime. What'd he do?"

"Angel's can't die," Gabriel said, "but they can Fall. Falling is the greatest punishment an Angel can be given. To be cast from Heaven, cast to Lucifer's realm," he let out a low whistle, "well Raphael did it," he looked at Castiel, "to Castiel. No permission, no nothing," he shook his head,"that'd be like someone executing someone without a court ruling. Its fucked up man and Raphael's gonna have some serious explaining to do."

"So because he banished Cas, he's in trouble?"

"Among other shit, yeah," Gabriel said. Dean looked at him, "what? Look I'm gonna have to stand for what I did too when Dad comes back. It goes with the territory of being an Angel."

"What about Cas?" Dean asked. Gabriel looked down.

"Dean," Castiel said, warning in his voice.

"No, what about Cas?" Dean demanded, "he rebelled. Is he going to be Banished to?"

"I don't know," Gabriel said looking up at him, "no-one knows. We're jumping the gun just a _little_ bit don't you think? With, oh I don't know, _Death_ running around. Lucifer doing a fucking irish jigg on the Earth's ass. So why don't we worry about being alive to stand trial and jump the next bridge when we come to it huh?"

Dean opened his mouth to ask more answers.

"Dean," Castiel said hotly. Dean looked at him, "leave it," Castiel said, the plea obvious in his eyes.

While he was touched by Dean's concern, by the protectiveness he saw in the elder Winchester's eyes, the fact was that he was speaking to Gabriel. The Archangel Gabriel. Even now when he was roaming on earth, disguised as a Trickster, Gabriel was a thousand times more powerful than Castiel knew he would ever be--more powerful than any other Angel save for Michael. But Dean, Dean just looked at him like he was another Angel they needed to beat the truth out of. Castiel was beginning to wonder if Dean Winchest might have not been born with a survival instinct. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sam and the younger of the Winchester's looked anxious enough for the both of them. He looked down a

"Look I doubt anything too bad'll happen to any of us," Gabriel said, "if we're alive, if humanity is too, then I've got a feeling God's gonna be happy enough to be a bit lenient with us," he grinned a Dean, "besides, I figure if we mess up more, we'll just blame it on you."

"Nice," Dean said sarcastically.

"Yeah, I know, I'm a Saint," Gabriel flashed his trademark smile, "you can check."

Dean grumbled under his breath as he looked over at the two Archangels. Michael turned on his heel and strode back towards them, one hand angrily running through his hair. Raphael followed, clearly leaving a distinct space between himself and the Archangel. Given how Raphael had acted, Dean couldn't help but feel a savage sort of triumph at the guilt on his face. He looked at Michael and decided right there and then that the Archangel--while still a tool--had his moments. The two of them walked up to the rest of the group.

"Dean," Michael looked at him, "we need to speak," he glanced at the others "alone," he added. Dean nodded and he turned to Raphael, "inform them of the situation."

Raphael gave a curt nod as Dean walked over to the Archangel. Michael led him down the street, almost to the spot where he had been speaking to Raphael. Dean followed him but when the Archangel gave no sign of slowing down, he spoke.

"You know, I'm really making an effort to patch things up with Sammy and this whole singling out thing isn't helping--"

"I need to return to Heaven."

Dean's eyes widened at the words that had just left Michael's mouth. He needed to return to Heaven. He had been there for a little over a day and he needed to go back. Dean looked down at the skin of the Archangel's stomach. He could see the lines there, the scar from the Hell Hounds. In his head he could hear Jo's agonized cry as they tore her stomach apart until her insides were on the out. He could still remember the raw fear that had slammed into him, fear he usually only felt when his family was in trouble. Now the injury was just a scar. Nothing more. But Michael had said that Jo would die if he left. Dean grabbed the Archangel's arm.

"No way, no _fucking_ way. You said that you'd heal her and she'd be safe," he looked at him, "you said she was too weak to have you go. What's so damn important that you've got to up and run _now_?"

Michael lowered his eyes.

"You better give me a reason and it'd better be a damn good one."

Michael let out a breath, looking away before he looked back at Dean.

"It has been a century since I was last in Heaven."

Dean stared at the Archangel. Gabriel had said that Michael had been absent but a hundred years? That was a hell of a lot longer than just 'absent'. He had assumed that with everyone jerking him left and right to get him to agree to be Michael's Vessel that Michael had _been_ there, waiting for him. Michael had even said that he could have brought Dean to Heaven with a snap of his fingers. Dean realized that would have been pointless because even if he wound up in Heaven, Michael wouldn't have been there.

"That was why you didn't intervene," Dean said, realization slamming into him, "you thought that we'd pull some miracle out of our asses and you could be free to do whatever it is your doing. You miserable son of a--"

"I must return to Heaven. Raphael has informed me that the Angels are restless and rebellion is brewing. If I go to them, they will not rebel and they will not Fall."

"What were you doing?" Dean demanded.

"I told you that is _none_ of your concern. I must go to Heaven and I will return as quickly as I am able to."

"Not good enough," Dean said.

"A rebellion in Heaven, the preventable chance that Lucifer will get hundreds--if not thousands--more soldiers and it is not _good_ enough for you?" Michael spat.

"You gave me your word that she'd be fine."

"And she will be!" Michael shouted, "I do not trust Raphael but he is the best Healer. He will keep her alive until I return."

"No," Dean repeated.

"I am not asking for your permission or your opinions on the matter," Michael said, "as a sign of trust I am merely keeping you informed of the situation at hand."

"You said she would die," Dean said, his voice oddly gruff, "you _said_--"

"And without Raphael's help she will," he said.

"So I'm just supposed to trust the Archangel who smoked Cas to take care of Jo?" he demanded.

"You are supposed to trust me," Michael said, "and believe me when i tell you that Gabriel will make sure that Raphael does nothing to harm my vessel."

"Trust you?" Dean repeated, "you're asking me to trust you. Sorry, man, but you've given me no reason to do that. A day isn't enough to make up for half the crap you've put me and Sam through. You want my trust you'd better give me a damn reason to trust you," he looked at the Archangel, "why were you missing from Heaven?"

"I was looking," Michael said after a moment.

"So you were looking for God," Dean said, deciding that seemed like a valid point. Even if it was one that made a bit too much sense to him, "fin--"

"I suppose you would think I was looking for God," Michael said, "and, of course, that was part of what I was looking for," he sighed and shook his head, seemingly amused at something Dean couldn't quite understand, "but no, I am afraid even I am not Noble enough to spend a hundred years searching for God."

When their eyes met, the sadness in Michael's was back, that terrible sadness that Dean had seen when he had looked at the book, at the picture of him banishing Lucifer to the depths of Hell. Dean stared into the sadness, into the self loathing and the hate, into the eyes of a man who had never forgiven himself, even if the world was a better place for what he had done. Somewhere deep inside Dean felt surprised at the look in his eyes before he realized that he understood. On some level Dean knew exactly what Michael was feeling. Still, the words were a surprise when they came from the Archangel's lips.

"I have spent the past century--and all the centuries before that I suppose--looking for a way to save my brother."

Dean's eyes widened, his mouth opening to say something--to say anything to the Archangel but before he could, Michael looked to the heavens. That was all the warning Dean got before Jo's eyes rolled up and she collapsed against him. Dean lunged forward, barely managing to catch her limp form in his arms. For a moment he was paralyzed as he stared at her. For a moment her chest did not rise, for a moment her heart did not beat. For a moment it seemed as if the world had truly stopped. Dean held his breath as he stared down at the features, half hidden by Jo's hair, waiting desperately for some sign that she was alive. Michael had sworn, he had said that she would stay alive, but if she hadn't survived his departure, how could she possibly be healed by Raphael? Dean's fingers tightened on her shoulders as he waited, desperately hoping against all logic that she hadn't been killed on the spot.

"Come on," he hissed, trying not to think of her agonized scream or the way her eyes had looked at him as he drew back from the kiss, "Jo--"

A groan reached his ear.

It was barely audible, made with a throat still healing from being cut, but he heard it none the less. Her chest rose. He felt her heartbeat, though everything told him the two were anything but steady. Still Dean could count on one hand the number of times relief had been so overwhelming. His head flew up as he looked at the others, still standing outside the library. Dean looked down at Jo. Her features remained serene but Dean knew that wasn't going to last forever--not if he could help it anyway. Hooking an arm under her legs, Dean hoisted the girl into his arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder, her entire body limp. It was unsettling as hell but Dean ignored it.

"Hang on," he said, though he knew she couldn't hear him, "just--" he started to walk, as fast as he could, "hang on."

* * *

**And Jo's back!**

Thank you for all the wonderful compliments on Michael's character. I had a clear picture of how I wanted to do him and I'm glad you're enjoying him! For those who don't want Jo in the story, she IS going to be in here. I shipped Dean/Jo before the whole Angel thing and this story is definitely about the two of them. 

**For those curious about Angel lore, I'm combining what I know and what Supernatural has established. Raphael is the Archangel of Healing. Also for those asking, yes other Archangels are going to be making their appearances but Michael and Gabriel are our two main ones, Michael for the story and Gabriel because he's so freakin awesome I can't resist. Also the 7 Demon Lords will be involved.**

**Please review! A whole bunch of you have been faving and alerting which makes me feel all warm and cuddly but I love review so so much. **

**So please review!**

**And have a Happy Thanksgiving!**


	5. Chapter 5

Silence hung heavy in the motel room.

Jo Harvelle lay on the bed, far more Snow White with her pallor than Sleeping Beauty. In the time it had taken Dean to carry her from outside the library back to the motel room, Jo's condition had deteriorated rapidly. By the time they got her to the room, Jo was pale as death, feverish and her breathing was incredibly unsteady. Her brief moment of consciousness did not return. She was limp as a ragdoll when Dean had placed her on the bed and Raphael had moved to her side. Now the only sound in the room was the almost inaudible sound of Raphael's healing on the young woman's broken body.

Castiel stood by the door, looking at the sight in front of him. In Heaven the Archangels were in high demand, high enough that it was rare to see two of them together. But suddenly he found himself in the same room as two of them, before that he had been with three of the Archangels. Castiel couldn't help but think of what the other Angels in his garrison would say if they could see him now. Him. Standing, guarding the door for two of the most powerful Archangels in Heaven. Castiel had been certain given his interaction with Raphael and what he had learned from Lucifer that he would be in Heaven only to be banished or, worse, to Fall. But now he realized that there was a chance he was going to come out of this without a one way ticket to Hell and the thought made him feel, well, happier and more at peace than he had in some time.

"Raphael," Gabriel spoke finally, "you got something you want to share with the class?"

Raphel shifted on the chair he was sitting on. His hands were moving continuously over Jo's body in overlapping circles. While he focused on her stomach and throat, the damage was _everywhere_. There was simply too much to focus on one part of the girl in front of him. She was dying. An Angel, especially one of Michael's power, leaving a body in the state hers was in, it was nothing short of insane. Every bit of him that healed, every ounce of power he had, it all screamed that this was a lost cause. That perhaps it was the will of a Higher Power that this girl die. Everything he was screamed it and yet he continued to heal her, continued to pour energy into her body, as much as she could take. He was too busy focusing on that to answer Gabriel's snappy prod.

Gabriel got seamlessly to his feet and walked away from him to where Castiel was standing. It was pride that made Castiel stand tall, pride that kept him in his place, that made him want to object to the training that made him stand taller. Training that made him avert his eyes in a show of deference to his superior. Despite what Gabriel had done, despite the fact that he knew that he had done nothing truly wrong, he still found himself showing submission to Gabriel. Even though the Archangel had rebelled, had abandoned and had thrown him into a series of tv shows, beating the tar out of him in the process. In spite of all of that Castiel lowered his eyes and bowed his head to the Archangel as he walked over and stood by Castiel.

"Cut the shit," Gabriel said, "we all know you don't want to show me anything but your middle finger," he crossed his arms, "so why don't you?"

"You are still my superior," Castiel said.

"I would not hold the old rules in such a high regard," Raphael spoke from his vantage point.

"Raphael," Gabriel said, his voice full of warning.

"You did not take Dean when you could have, you abandoned your station in Heaven and you willingly support and protect Lucifer's true vessel," Raphael said, voice unnervingly calm, "and you would have another Angel believe that the rules hold true," Castiel looked down, "speak, Castiel," Raphael said.

"Order is the enemy of Chaos," Castiel said, quoting a proverb they had heard many times, "I will uphold any order that I can."

"Order," Raphael shook his head, "there is no Order in this place."

Gabriel's fingers balled into fists as he looked at his fellow Archangel, disgust in his eyes. It did not take much for Castiel to guess what that was about. Despite his abandonment and subsequent return, Castiel--and every other Archangel in Heaven--was very aware of the fact that Gabriel would follow Michael to Hell and back. Raphael's snide comment was clearly directed at the vessel below, at Jo and therefore at Michael himself. That was something Gabriel would not tolerate. Castiel knew he was only tolerating Raphael's presence because of Michael's orders and because of the laws that governed them. But it seemed like Gabriel was close to a breaking point and while Castiel knew he would not hurt Michael's vessel, he also knew that Gabriel wanted nothing more than to throw Raphael through a brick wall.

"Just say it already," Gabriel said

"I have far more to concentrate on," Raphael said dismissively, his hands not breaking their motion, "it will be a miracle if this Vessel survives until Michael's return."

"Then I suggest you pull a miracle out of your ass," Gabriel snapped.

"Jo," Castiel said. Both Archangels looked at him and he felt heat on the back of his neck at their speculation. Still he continued, "her name is Jo Harvelle."

"Sympathy and compassion," Raphael said, "no wonder you failed your mission."

"You know, _now _I remember why I left," Gabriel said rolling his eyes, "pretentious, snot nosed Archangels like _you_."

"You rebelled as well," Raphael said glancing over his shoulder.

"Yeah, so?" Gabriel shrugged, "at least _I_ didn't forget why I was created," Raphael looked down at Jo, his jaw working back an forth, "don't feel bad," Gabriel said looking at Castiel, "we're supposed to love humanity. They're like our snot nosed little brothers who we pretend to hate to look cool in front of a friends for, but really, we love 'em," he looked at Raphael, "dickbag over here just forgot that," Castiel rolled his eyes, "and now he's got his panties in a wad because Michael did what was necessary."

"Taking this vessel--this dying girl, it was anything but necessary and we both know it!" Raphael shouted, patience finally snapping, "she is not his intended Vessel. He is _only_ supposed to take over Dean Winchester--it is what is written!"

"Oh blow it out your ass," Gabriel snapped, "in case your head's been too far up there to notice, we're past what's written. Lucifer's in a new Vessel, Michael's got a new one too and as his brethren we must help him. So unless you want a one way ticket to Hell I suggest you get on the fuck on the train," he looked over at Castiel, "this one gets it, why is it so above your head?" Raphael opened his mouth, "I don't really care what you're about to say so how about you work on keeping whats-her-face-alive?"

Raphael looked back at Jo angrily, focusing on the task at hand as Gabriel stepped to the side and leaned against the wall next to Castiel. The Angel stood still as he looked at Raphael, an odd ringing coming into his ears. He bowed his head and lowered his eyes as he focused on Angelic abilities that he had not had to use in some time. He knew it would be virtually impossible for him to reply to Gabriel, just as he knew whatever message he had to give him was important enough that he did not want Raphael to hear. Especially since Castiel had a feeling Gabriel did not fully trust his brother.

'Sam Winchester cleared out of here pretty fast,' Gabriel's thoughts came into his head, spoke with the Archangel's voice, 'he doesn't like salt and that tattoo of his--the anti-demon one--was scratched,' Castiel balled his fists, 'he's changing and we both know it.'

Castiel gave the barest nod as Gabriel continued.

'I made excuses to Raphael and got the two of them to wait outside but the Archangel's aren't going to stand by forever,' he waited, 'neither are the Demon Lords,' he added, his voice softer, 'they will come for him like we came for you. I think Lucifer's patience is wearing thin. He's going to up his game _real_ soon.'

"Castiel," Raphael spoke. Castiel's head jerked up as he looked at him, "switch places with Dean," he glared down at the girl in front of him, "I fear she truly will need a miracle to survive."

Castiel nodded, trading a look with Gabriel before he tugged the door open and stepped outside. The night was unusually cool, especially when he came from a room that had crackled with Angelic power. On the other side of the door the two Winchester's stood. Gabriel had ordered the two of them out of the motel room the second that Dean had put Jo on the bed and though they had struggled, ultimately Gabriel had pitched them out with his power. Now Castiel could see why. Sam was pale and tight faced, seeming to do everything in his power to keep from throwing up and passing out all together. Dean looked too lost in his own confusion and worry to notice, especially given the cheap motel lighting that seemed to make everyone look inches from death. The moment he saw Castiel however, his head flew up and he crossed the space to where the Angel was standing.

"What's going on? How is she? Why the hell'd you throw us out like that--"

"Dean," Castiel interrupted sharply, "you need to go inside. Gabriel and Raphael are in there, they will direct you."

"Direct me? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Cas, what's going on in there?" the Hunter demanded.

"Go inside," Castiel said.

Dean's jaw worked back and forth in anger but he did, his worry for the girl serving as Michael's Vessel overriding his need to beat information out of Castiel. The moment the door shut, Sam Wincester turned around and emptied his stomach onto the cheap asphalt of the parking lot. Castiel looked down at the terrible sound, his own stomach sinking as the truth of Gabriel's words hit him. He had not noticed Sam's dislike of salt, nor the marred tattoo on his chest. But now, now it was painfully clear that Sam Winchester was undergoing a change, a change he had successfully kept hidden from even his brother. Castiel wished he could say it was food poisoning or some other human ailment that was making Sam sick, but he knew that it was the Angelic presence. It was the two Archangels and the power they were using. Angelic power making Sam sick.

Sam kept his eyes closed and remained doubled over the banister for a moment longer, the taste of bile heavy on his tongue. From the moment he had been thrown out by Gabriel, the second Raphael's healing had begun, Sam felt as though he would pass out or be sick or some combination of the two. He had kept himself quiet and to the shadows, letting the worry in Dean overshadow the fact that within the span of two hours he had gone from miserable to wishing that he would die. He had tried to keep it in when Cas had stepped out but the second Dean had left the room he had lost it. Sam held himself there, delaying the moment when he was going to have to turn around and face Castiel. The Angel waited, patiently, and finally Sam pushed himself up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and turning to face the Angel.

Whatever he had been expecting it was a thousand times worse.

The betrayal in the Angel's eyes was so profound it weakened Sam's knees. It was not simply that he was changing, it was as if by doing it and keeping it a secret, Sam had confirmed Castiel's deepest fear. Sam kept his hand pressed to his mouth as he looked at the Angel, hating himself at the look in his eyes. It was too hurt to just be on behalf of Dean, no, Sam realized that the pain was from Castiel as well. He had hurt the Angel. Sam knew that Castiel was much closer to his brother, in fact, Sam didn't know he was capable of hurting Cas, but it seemed that he was and the self-loathing he felt was crippling.

"Cas--" he began.

"How long have you been hiding this?" Castiel asked.

"I--"

"How long?" The Angel demanded, anger in his tone.

"Since Ruby died," Sam said, "but it only got bad when Michael came here," he looked away before he looked at Castiel, "it didn't get really bad until now."

"You are in trouble," Castiel said, "this is a symptom of your--"

"No!" Sam cut in harshly. Castiel looked at him, "I don't care what it is," he shook his head, "I don't care what I'm supposed to be," he shook his head again, more viciously, "I'm not--I won't be--"

"Sam you cannot deny what is happening to you," Castiel said.

"Yes I can," Sam said looking at the Angel with desperation heavy in his eyes.

"No," Castiel said firmly stepping forward, "you are dying. And if you die, Lucifer will take you," fear shone in the younger Winchester's eyes and Castiel felt guilty but he continued, "its only a matter of time before the Demon Lords come and tempt you," he stepped forward, "you must let us help you."

"Help me?" Sam gasped for air, his chest heaving, "no-one can help me. Look at me! I can't even be around Archangels without being sick."

"I did not say it would be easy. But MIchael and Gabriel know what is at stake. They will help you."

"After what they've done, how can you be so sure?"

"Because Michael was never supposed to take another Vessel," Castiel said, "It is written that you are to be Lucifer's and Michael is to take Dean. Lucifer chose to take another Vessel but that does not change things. But Michael defied the prophecies that have been upheld for hundreds of years--prophecies that _he_ upheld as well--to take another Vessel. Everything has been changed."

"So because Michael took _Jo_, we're just supposed to trust him?" Sam demanded, "Cas you know what this guy's put us through--what he's put Dean through. How can you be so sure?"

"Because he lied," Castiel said, "I know Michael told Dean that Jo had the potential to be his Vessel but we all know that she was years from achieving that," he looked at the sky before he looked at Sam once more, "he saved Jo for Dean."

Sam looked at Castiel, trying to see if the Angel was lying but he saw nothing to show that. Sam had long known that Dean found Jo far more intriguing and attractive than he would tell another person and he had always thought there was a chance that they would eventually be something together but he hadn't thought it was obvious to anyone else. But apparently it had been clear to a few others. Sam leaned against the banister, bowing his head as he inhaled sharply, trying to fight the nausea that seemed to swell out of nowhere. He raised his eyes to lock with Castiel, the one Angel he knew he'd always trust for what he had done for them. If Castiel was willing to trust Michael and Gabriel, then he was going to have to go on that.

"What do I have to do?" he asked.

**

* * *

**

"She's dying."

Dean stared at the Archangel who blocked him the moment he entered the room, stepping in between him and the rest of the room. No matter how he craned his neck, how he tried to see the bed, he found it impossible. Gabriel glared at him, obviously torn between loyalty to Michael and the certainty of what a shit plan this was. All Dean could see was Jo's leather clad legs and Raphael's sloped back as he bent over her. He could feel the power in the room, power that seemed to be stifling in the room. But all of that was secondary to the figure on the bed. The _unconscious _girl on the bed who seemed more like the plant for a 'To Catch a Predator' spot than the woman he had come to understand was a lot tougher than he had previously given her credit for.

"Dying?" Dean demanded, "she was already dying."

"Yeah, well, now she's dying more," he said, "and we're gonna need your help to keep her alive."

"Me?" Dean looked at her legs and then at the Archangel, "what the hell can I do?"

"How the fuck should I know?" Gabriel demanded, "you're the one who knows this chick, you figure it out," he stepped aside.

Dean crossed the room instantly, stopping at the foot of the bed. Gabriel had warned him but somehow it was impossible to be prepared for what he saw. Jo was frighteningly pale. There was no color, not on her face, not on the skin of her stomach, not even on her lips. Her blond hair was matted and lanky, the shortened locks only making her look worse. Her chest rose and fell erratically and Dean would have bet his last knife that her heartbeat was unsteady too. The lines on her stomach and throat were red and angry, far more stark than when Michael had in habited her body. Dean had never thought he'd be grateful to the Archangel but watching her look like that, it was enough to make him do anything to bring the Archangel back and put him in her body again.

Dean had only really ever been good at comforting one person when they were sick: Sammy. In later years Dean would think it was more because Sam idolized him practically from birth and was desperate to show he was strong to his brother than any actual skill at comforting on Dean's part. But he hadn't been much of a help when Castiel's faith had been shaken, nor when his father had been dying--what good could he possibly be to the woman laying on the bed. She looked so small and ill, so unlike the vivacious young woman who had charged the Hell Hounds with a shotgun to save his ass and then decided if she was going to die she was going to take those bitches down with her. To Dean's frazzled mind it was almost impossible to associate the two people together, as if they were completely separated now.

"I thought you were supposed to be this great healer," Dean said looking at Raphael angrily.

"I am," Raphael said, his tone dripping with disdain, "I am also smart enough to know that choosing a dying Vessel is a very poor choice."

"Now you see why I left Heaven?" Gabriel said crossing his arms, "its because then I didn't have to deal with pricks like him."

"Would you two both shut up?" Dean demanded, immediately regretting speaking to the Archangel at all.

"Talk to her," Raphael said finally, "there is only so much I can do with raw power."

"Talk to her?" Dean repeated, "what is this, Lifetime?" he looked down at her, "or did I just drop into some twisted sort of disney movie?"

"Look, bud, I'm all for some good sexual tension," Gabriel said, "but how about we do it _after_ the Princess wakes up," Dean's eyes flashed dangerous, "what? You ask, I comment."

"Don't do that," Dean said.

"Ha!" Gabriel laughed, "he really does sound like Michael doesn't he?"

"Don't do that either," Dean said automatically.

"Aww are you're--"

"Gabriel!" Raphael cut him off, turning over his shoulder to glare at him in an uncharacteristic show of anger and defiance, "if you wish for Michael to have a Vessel upon his return, be quiet."

Gabriel glared but ultimately kept his mouth shut. Dean looked down at Jo's still features and tried not to feel nauseous. It was just plain weird to see her laying there like that, so still and so injured. It was one thing to see her dying when the world was practically ending all around them, when they were racing against the clock to save the lives of all those people. But now, with the race at a much slower pace, Dean realized just how terrible it was to watch her slowly die. Now though, now that he knew what it was like to see the light in her eyes gloss over, to watch as she struggled to cling to life just long enough to do some serious ass kicking--now it was much worse.

Worse still were the questions.

Questions like what had drove her to lean into the impulsive kiss on her forehead? What on earth possessed her to charge after him in the first place? Why, in the name of a God he wasn't sure he completely believed in, did she kiss him back when he had leaned forward? Questions that he couldn't ask because she wasn't anywhere near awake. Slowly Dean lowered himself until he leaned against the bedside table of the motel, the wood groaning against his weight. He crossed his arms over his chest as he looked down at the girl on the bed before he immediately uncrossed them and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He could shout at the two Archangels until he was blue in the face but somehow he couldn't find the words to say to the blond girl laying on the bed.

"Damn it," he swore under his breath, glaring as the two Archangel's raised their eyebrows at his poor opening line, "Jo," he sighed looking at her, "I know you're in a lot of pain--" Gabriel made a sound, "look I'm trying here," Dean said angrily.

"Yeah, well, try harder because right now you're kind of sucking," Gabriel said, "say something nice to the pretty girl."

Dean looked down at Jo.

"Alright look," Dean said finally bending down until he was closer to her, "I know this blows, especially with these two here," he looked at the two of them.

"Hey!" Gabriel objected loudly.

"But," Dean continued, "if you give up it's gonna blow a hell of a lot more," he looked down at her, "I know you can fight and I know right now you're probably thinking you can't but, damn it, you can and that's what you gotta do," he shook his head, "way I see it, these two cocky sons of bitches are waiting for you to die. I know how much you love to prove people wrong so how 'bout it?" she didn't reply, "come on, after all the shit we've been through you can't tell me rubbing their noses in you surviving doesn't sound good."

Jo made no move, no sound, no acknowledgement of being aware of anything going on around her. She just lay there, still and cold. Dean looked up at Raphael's face. The Archangel was continuing to heal, his hands moving up and down her body continuously in the same manner he had been. Dean couldn't see any difference in his healing. He looked back at Jo, trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to say next when Raphael spoke.

"It is alright," he said, "she is accepting my healing more," he glance at Dean, "it seems she would like to rub our noses in her survival."

And, for the first time since he'd watched her die, Dean really felt like smiling.

A smile that would have been much easier to maintain if not for the look of confusion and surprise on the faces of the two Archangels. Dean glanced to the window as the bright headlight that burned for a moment before it died as the vehicle was turned off. From the sound and glare, he'd bet it was a motorcycle. Raphael looked at Gabriel who walked over to the window and pulled the blinds apart, glancing through the slats to the figure on the other side of the window. Swearing angrily, he let the gap close and turned around, walking over to the bed where Jo was laying.

Before he could talk, there was a knock at the door. From the low voices on the other side he could tell Jo and Castiel were talking to whoever their visitor was but they weren't having any of it. The pounding came again, harder this time, angrier. Gabriel gritted his teeth before he strode over to the door and yanked it open to reveal the rider of the motorcycle. Tall and clad in leather, he moved forward with an eerie sort of grace that transcended even the faceless helmet he wore. Quickly he walked into the room, closing the door behind him. With a gloved hand he opened the blinds and looked through.

Seemingly satisfied he undid the straps of his helmet and pulled it off. The features underneath were, at the very least, handsome if not outright beautiful. Obviously asian, his black hair was long enough to be pulled back off his features. However when he looked at the other four people in the room, his eyes were a shocking shade of blue, almost electric and they seemed to glow brightly. Instantly the power in the room seemed to increase, a dead give away that the man who had just joined them was anything but human. Gabriel looked between the two of them but Raphael just looked at Jo, distancing himself from the newcomer.

"So," Gabriel said, "what the fuck are you doing here?" he sized the newcomer up, "did Michael send you?"

"No," he said, his voice holding no trace of an accent, just the same formality that the other Archangels save for Gabriel seemed to use, "he did not," he looked over at the window again before he looked at Gabriel, "I heard rumors and I came to see--to help."

"You want to help?" Gabriel demanded, "where were you when this shit was going down huh?"

"I was not involved," he said meeting Gabriel's eyes without so much as an ounce of hesitance, "I prefer not to be involved with every squabble that seems to occur in our family," he glanced at Raphael pointedly before his eyes found Jo, "so, the rumors are true."

"Yeah," Gabriel said, "Michael's got a new Vessel. What are you going to do now?"

"I followed Michael to Hell once," came the reply, "I will do so again."

Gabriel nodded and suddenly the piercing electric blue eyes of the man found him. His eyes widened in surprise and Dean realized that he had been hidden from the man. His fingers tightened on the strap of the helmet as he stared at Dean, clearly knowing with the Winchester was. His eyes went to Gabriel finally, one eyebrow arching in a look of clear surprise. However acceptance quickly followed and he moved across the room to where Dean was standing.

"Hi," Dean said slowly, "so, which Dwarf are you?"

"Selaphiel," he said after a moment's pause, "I am Selaphiel."

"Man," Dean shook his head, "you need a nickname."

Blankly the Archangel looked at Raphael and Gabriel who shrugged but didn't deny the fact that while Raphael, Gabriel and Michael were common names, Selaphiel was anything but.

"Eli," Gabriel said, "he can be Eli."

"If you feel the need," Selaphiel replied. He looked at the three of them expectantly, "what can I do assist?"

"You can start by telling me what's going on with the other Archangels," Gabriel said, "I'm out of the loop, remember?"

Across the street, hidden by the night, a second rider looked at the bike parked outside the motel. Dressed all in black, the figure was distinctly female and dressed identically to Selaphiel. For a moment she waited, shrouded in the darkness, her motorcycle purring in anticipation of the ride, seemingly torn between going into the motel and driving off. Her gloved fingers tightened on the bike, gripping it with all her strength. Angrily she shook her head, seemingly frustrated with her own inability to move before she jerked her hand, the bike roaring to life and speeding down the road. The motel faded as she drove into the night, her destination etched into her mind.

It was early morning by the time she reached her destination, the barren landscape long ago having given way to the city she found herself in. Swinging off the motorcycle she locked up the bike and undid the clasp of her helmet, pulling it off and shaking her hair free. She walked into the building, the fact it was so early seeming to make no difference to the doorman who opened the glass barrier with a smile. Nor did it seem to make a difference to the receptionist who smiled at her as if it was noon.

"Good morning Miss Kiro," she said, "Miss Mereno is expecting you. Please, follow me."

She gave a curt nod, unable to voice words past the anger in her throat. The woman led her through another doorway to the elevator. Stepping inside, she pressed the button for the top floor and waited patiently as the doors closed. The elevator took them up, nauseatingly happy and relaxing music playing through their ears. The doors slid open finally to reveal a spacious office that took up most of the floor they were on. Standing in front of the desk, waiting patiently, was another woman. She smiled, the gesture genuinely warm, and crossed the carpeted floor.

"Thank you for coming," she said, "I take it you saw him."

"Yeah, I saw him," she replied, the fingers on her helmet tightening against the padded interior, "two days ago my brother was comatoase, the doctors told me that even if he did wake up and was something other than a vegetable he'd be blind--they had to remove his eyes!"

"I know--"

"No, you don't. Because then, two days ago, I woke up to an empty bed and your phone call. I found him last night, on his bike, pulling into some shit motel that had two thugs standing outside the door!"

"I know," the woman said sympathetically, "and I know how traumatizing this must be for you--" she placed a finger against the other's angrily parted lips, "shh, shh, shh," she whispered, "don't be afraid, everything is going to be alright."

A moment later the woman turned around, the motorcycle rider collapsing boneless to the ground. The woman sighed, rolling her head from side to side before she walked forward to the desk, her hips swaying with the movement. She reached out, running a finger across the chair she passed, then the table beside it, the lamp--everything. She caressed each object that she touched, as if by reminding herself what she owned she derived some sort of pleasure from it. With a soft, heavy sigh she slid her hand across the wood of the desk until she reached her chair. Placing herself in it she turned towards the floor to ceiling windows and looked out at the sunrise. Reaching behind her she found the telephone on the desk and lifted the receiver towards her as the buttons on the device punched themselves.

"Yes, good morning to you too," she said, "would you please tell Mr. Ammon that he has an urgent call?" she paused, "from who?" she smiled, "from Miss Leviathan," she crossed her legs, "yes, please tell him that I've found some old friends of ours, friends we are simply _dying_ to meet again."

* * *

**Okay and we've got a new Archangel and the first of the Demon Lords!**

**Next time there's gonna be a bit more Jo/Dean but Michael WILL be back. And he will be awesome. Also we'll deal with more of this Demonic thing and what was really going on in heaven. Also soon we'll be back to a few characters as job's are given out and they take a "divide and conquer approach"**

**Please review!**


	6. Chapter 6

Beauty.

Indescribable beauty.

That was the last thing Joanna Beth Harvelle remembered as she lay dying on the floor of some shit gas station in some shit town that was about to become the site of _another_ fuck you gate to hell. She'd been pissed and more than a little embarrassed that before she could make a difference she was being blown to shit. But, if she had to pick the single worst moment, it was when Dean Winchester pressed his lips to hers. It wasn't because he liked her, it wasn't because they could be something, no, it was pity. Pity and his indulgence of her school-girl crush on him. It was somehow both the worst and best kiss Jo had ever had.

She hadn't seen her life flash before her eyes as her vision dimmed. She hadn't even had some last great epiphany before everything went away, not that she thought 'well this sucks' counted as one. No it had all just kind of been, well, over. End of the story. And then the world had gone to white. It started in the corners of her eyes and moved inwards until her entire vision was tunneled. But she hadn't been afraid. It was hard to be afraid when the white meant the agony that had occupied every fiber of her being was going away. She had fought it, of course, but it had been a loosing battle. She had been caught in some impossible pull, in some indescribable tide. She swam against it but there had been one final, great undertow and then, just like that.

She was gone.

There were no words to describe what took her vision. Whatever she had dreamed, whatever she had thought, it was nothing compared to what she had experienced. But it was only a glimpse, a glimpse of impossible beauty and eternal peace.

Then her eyes cleared.

Jo Harvelle found herself on the red carpeted floor of an empty building. She felt as if the air had been knocked out of her lungs. Coughing she struggled to breath and for a moment she felt like she wouldn't be able to. But her lungs remembered and she inhaled, air rushing into her. Gasping she pushed herself into a sitting position. Her hand scrambled over her stomach, across her neck, fingers searching for the wounds that she knew she wouldn't be able to find. Everything was healed. No Hell Hounds claws, no explosion that would have torn her to shreds, there was nothing. Jo's eyes caste around the room, searching for whatever force had brought her there but she could find none.

Slowly she got to her feet, on legs that a moment ago she hadn't been able to feel. She was dressed in her old cloths, except now they had no sign of her blood, of the gravel she had fallen onto, nothing. Carefully Jo looked around, trying to see where she was. The place she stood in was deserted but the two doors she could see were open. However whatever lay beyond them was lost to the light. All around her she could see marble sloping high towards the precipice of the dome. Two massive pillars stood framing a pace clearly designated for worship of some kind. But what stopped Jo were the lanterns that hung just above her head. Starting at a central light they spiraled outwards, brightly lit globes spaced every few inches that hung on a wire tract. The chandelier took up the entirety of the room, there must have been over three hundred lamps.

"Three hundred and sixty five, to be exact."

Jo turned to look at one of the entrances. The light seemed to enter the structure in its purest form but it soon solidified into a shape. The man who stepped out of the light was not beautiful, not as Jo would have expected. His features were sharp and strong but there were flaws there, perhaps his eyes were a bit too close together and his bottom lip was a bit too full. He could have stood to shave as well. His dark hair fell to his shoulders, a few strands falling over his features. But it was his clothing that stopped her. The man was wearing a well worked leather vest and braces on his wrists. Though he wore pants, he wore no shoes. Around his waist she could see a belt designed to hold a scabbard and a sword, though neither was there. A red sash was worn there as well, the color bright and jarring against the darker colors of his garb.

The man walked forward with almost animalistic grace, seemingly not perturbed by Jo's sharp inspection. He approached her until he stood a few feet from her, his hands loose by his sides. Jo kept her body angled almost perpendicular to his, giving him the smallest target in case he decided to attack. But she got the distinct impression that no matter how skilled she was if this man had meant her harm then she would have suffered already.

"Who are you?" Jo questioned looking at him sharply.

"I am Michael," he said showing her his palms in what she knew was an old show of peace--that he was unarmed.

"Micha--" she stopped, "wait, Michael the _Archangel_?"

"Yes," he said simply.

Jo looked away, letting out a breath. There was a time when she wouldn't have dreamed about talking back to an Archangel. But considering she was dead, she figured she had very little to loose. She would have thought, given she had yet to hear a single good thing about him, that he would have denied it or let her guess. But despite all the bullshit he had pulled with pretty much everyone she knew, he was strait forward with her. Worse, he didn't even have the grace to look ashamed at what had been done in his name.

"You're an asshole," she said looking at him. Michael arched an eyebrow, "what you did to Dean--and Sam, and Castiel, it was completely out of line."

Amusement flickered in the Archangel's eyes and Jo saw red. Her fists balled but he gave no sign of rising to her threats, as if any words she hurled his way would do nothing to affect him. There was nothing worse than that really--nothing worse than feeling helpless. And that was how Jo felt. She hadn't been able to really kill a Hellhound anymore than she had been able to keep her guts inside or even stay alive long enough to press the damn trigger herself. And now a freakin Archangel was standing there, amused at the fact she had called him an asshole. Granted, he was an Archangel and he had probably called a lot worse, but still Jo couldn't help but be a _little_ more pissed at him.

"Your anger, while understandable, is useless," Michael told her.

"You're going to give me the anger-leads-to-the-darkside speech?" Jo demanded in disbelief, "so what, because I'm a _little_ pissed I'm dead I'm in trouble? That's such--"

"You are not dead," Michael said.

"Bullshit and I don't think--" Jo stopped, "what did you just say?"

"I said you are not dead," MIchael said, "you are fatally wounded and, in a few moments, you will be dead. But as of this moment, you are not," Jo narrowed her eyes, "I am here to offer you a deal."

"You want to make me a deal?" she demanded, "wow, I'm not sure I believe that," Michael looked at her, obviously confused, "well you haven't tortured me for months, so I'm just a little confused."

"Understandable," he said, 'but I'm afraid my time runs short," he sighed, "Lucifer has seen fit to take another Vessel and I am inclined to follow. His release of Death will signal a crucial turning point in the War and I fear that if I do not improvise another Vessel, there will be no point in waiting for Dean Winchester."

"So I'm your 'improvisation'?" she questioned crossing her arms, "I'm hurt."

"You are dying," Michael said, missing the joke completely.

"Thanks I know," Jo snapped, "so what do you want from me?"

"You are willing to listen," Michael said, "i did not think you would agree to do so this easily."

"I'm not agreeing to anything," Jo said quickly.

"You know then," he said, "that I cannot force you to do anything. All I can do is offer you a choice," Jo nodded slowly, "well, our time is short. Here is your choice. You may return to your body, living out your last moments in agony before the components of your makeshift bomb tear your flesh apart," Jo winced at the thought, "or, you can let me use you."

"Use me how?"

"The man who built this," he said motioning to the structure they were in, "believed that he would always rule over his land. He believed his law would transcend the physical limit of time and in that way he too would do so," he lowered his hands to his side, "he was wrong. We do not live forever, Joanna, but in the short time we walk the earth we must live."

"Yeah, in case it escaped your notice, I'm laying on the floor of some crap gas station with my insides on my outsides, ten seconds from blowing that place to fucking hell."

"You will not survive long enough to push the trigger," Michael said. Jo glared angrily away, torn between rage and tears at how utterly useless she was, "but," Michael continued, "if you let me in you will become the greatest force in this battle."

"Let you in, let you in _where_?" Jo questioned.

"Let me in," Michael said.

"Didn't answer my question."

"I need a Vessel," Michael said, "I am too powerful to have just anyone serve and Dean is still my ideal Vessel, but you will work--"

"Wow," Jo said, "you really know what to say to a girl."

"My brother is unleashing Death. I _must_ stop him or there will not be a world to save. You are dying. Your weakened body will be healed and revived by my power. But i need your permission to occupy you, to use you. That is the only way."

"So let me get this strait. You want to use my body to save the world and in return your going to heal me?" Michael nodded, "what about Dean?"

"What about Dean?"

"You have to promise me you're going to leave Dean alone. No more sending damn Angels after him to get him to say yes. You take me and you be happy with what you have, got it?" Michael opened his mouth, "oh, and Castiel and Sam. You have to keep an eye on them too. Especially Sam. He's in a lot of trouble and if he goes Dean's not going to make it."

"Yes," Michael said.

"Yes?" Jo repeated, "no negotiating? You'll do it all?"

"We are running out of time!" Michael said, obviously not used to being negotiated with, "I agree to your terms. Will you act as my Vessel?"

"Yes," Jo said.

Michael held out a hand. Jo looked at his palm and then at the Archangel. Before she could regret her decision, she thrust out her hand, stopping it just before it touched Michael's. The Archangel's eyes widened but Jo spoke before he could say anything.

"My mom--" she began.

"There is nothing I can do for her," Michael said.

"I know," Jo looked down, "but is she going to be--" Jo swallowed, "is she going to be with you?"

Michael's eyes softened as his hand moved forward, grasping hers. Before Jo could open her mouth to ask anything more, Michael stepped forward, bringing their grasped hands in between their two chests. Jo could feel the leather of his clothing against her knuckles as the Archangel leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. Jo inhaled sharply as a strange feeling filled her body. She felt warm, not unpleasantly so, but nice, as though she had stepped into a warm bath. The flames did not bubble up like water, rather they nipped upwards, like fire. Jo felt them at her toes first as they moved upwards, past her knees, to her thighs, her waist, her chest--all over until her body felt engulfed by the fire. Her fingers tightened on Michael's as the Archangel stood with his lips pressed to her brow. She realized that his lips were moving, his voice soft and in a language she could not understand. When he was finished and flames had encompassed her completely, Michael stepped back.

"Go in Peace," he told her.

"Amen," Jo replied, her voice little more than a breath.

And so Jo Harvelle existed, cocooned by flames that did not burn her.

She watched everything. Watched as her body did things, things she would not have believed possible. She watched the anger in Dean's eyes as he was flung across the room, swearing like a drunkard in one of the most sacred placed on earth. She struggled through every gasp, every smack, every everything that Michael did. In the rare moments when she could see her reflection, be it on polished marble or in the glass of a car, she had to admit it looked pretty badass, watching her petite blond form throw people telekinetically across parking lots. The only truly offsetting thing was the emotions. She was pretty numb but the waves of rage she felt came from Michael. In the moments when he was the most angry, it was hard to take that, hard to distinguish herself from the Archangel even as the barrier he had placed around her ensured her they were two separate beings.

The only thing they seemed to share was the grief.

She felt it, knowing her mother was dead. Ellen had always said Jo was something of a Daddy's girl but Jo knew that wasn't the case. She was her mother's daughter through and through. But now her mother was gone. If Jo had been aware of herself enough to cry, she would have wept until there were no more tears in her eyes. But she couldn't even do that. Her only comfort was knowing that she was going to make sure that the fuckers who killed her mom were never going to hurt another mom again. She hadn't, however, expected the grief from the Archangel. It was worse than the anger even. Bone deep and more profound than Jo could have even comprehended, the grief seemed to weigh on the Archangel like an anchor, dragging him down to some impossibly deep depth.

It had taken Jo a while to figure out what it was. Despite being so close to the Archangel, she didn't know what he was thinking or what he had been through. It was not until he had gone to the library to look at the picture of Michael defeating Lucifer in that art book that she realized what it was. Michael had cried that day, though it had only been a single tear streaking his face--well, her face if she was thinking properly. Jo had realized then that Michael was grief stricken by the loss of his brother, by what he had to do to him and she knew that if Dean ever had to do anything like that to Sam, he'd break too. And despite being a great man, Dean WInchester wasn't an Archangel. Jo was instantly glad that she had made him promise to protect Sam too.

The first time Jo felt any kind of pain was when Michael left her body.

Even then it wasn't really pain, more like a tearing sensation as the flames flickered and then died completely. And even then the pain was more like coldness. Coldness and emptiness. She felt like she was Alice who'd drank the potion and found herself in a dress a hundred sizes too big. Except she was not Alice and the dress just happened to be her body rather than a garment. Jo felt too small for her own skin and while she would have liked to think that she had the common sense not to drink a strange potion, the fact of the matter was that she had willingly given the control of her body to an Archangel. So maybe she did not have such great sense after all.

Powerless to move, Jo heard voice swimming above her. The tones were alien, the words unintelligible to her ears. She could no more understand them then open her impossibly heavy eyelids. She didn't know how long she lay there waiting for the world to come into focus, for her body to once again be the right size.

"You cannot continue to pretend that you have done nothing wrong, Gabriel," a voice sharpened and became clear in her ears.

"Hey, I'm not pretending I haven't done anything wrong. But, lets face it, I didn't screw the pooch like you did," the first voice made a sound of disbelief, "you're the one _blew up_ another Angel."

"Castiel needed to be taught a lesson for his defiance."

"And you're suddenly the 'Hand of God'. Wow, I must have missed the party."

"You missed much while you were down her cavorting with humans," Raphael spat.

"Hey, I'm doing Dad's work. Loving human's."

"You play with them."

"And they play with me. They're not bad once you get to know them. And their food,"Gabriel let out an appreciative whistle, "I'd protect them just so I wouldn't have to eat that swill Lucifer makes."

"He never was a good cook," Raphael said after a moment, amusement creeping into his voice.

"You're telling me. He almost killed our reputation. We were telling the other battalions that killing didn't make us vomit for weeks," he let out a chuckle, "last time we ever let him cook."

"Once was more than enough," Raphael agreed, "Joanna, I need you to try to open your eyes."

Jo furrowed her brow as she tried to open her eyes. It was very hard to do, they felt almost tacky, stuck together with something.

"Gabriel."

Something cool and wet was pressed to her eyes, wiping them clean of something. Jo slowly forced her eyes open, though the effort was more than she could have imagined. The first thing she saw was the cracked and chipped ceiling, a tell tale sign she was in some kind of cheap motel. But it was warped, shimmering even. As if she was encased in some kind of giant bubble. Two faces came into her view. One was a blond man, his height clear even from her vantage point. The other was shorter but it was clear that between the two of them that the shorter was in charge. From what she'd read in Angel lore, she thought the shorter was Gabriel and the taller was Raphael. Closely ranked, Gabriel was still the higher ranking of the two. Focusing on the information, on what she knew, it helped to clear her fogged and vacant mind.

"Hello," Raphael said, "Joanna."

"Jo," Jo said, her voice little more than a rasp, "m'name's Jo."

"Jo it is," he said, "I am Raphael," he said, though such introductions were not really necessary, "this is Gabriel. You are in a motel, Michael had business to attend to in Heaven," Jo made to nod but Raphael shook his head, "do not try to move or to speak. My abilities have been focused on your more imminently threatening injuries. There was not time for the simpler things."

The door banged open as a third man joined them. This one was asian and looked absolutely furious. Raphael and Gabriel turned to him.

"Selaphiel, what's going on?"

"I just got a call," he said, "from this guy's sister. The Demon Lords are already here."

"What do you mean they're here?" Gabriel demanded, "do they know where we are?"

"Not yet, but its only a matter of time," Selaphiel said, his eyes going to Jo, "we have to get MIchael back."

"Michael's busy!"

"She cannot be moved," Raphael said, "not without serious risk."

"More serious than Michael's unoccupied Vessel falling into the hands of the Demon Lords?!" Selaphiel demanded, "from now on our priority has to be keeping her safe and Sam Winchester out of their hands."

Jo struggled to move, trying to get her body to do _something_ other than just lay there. Every movement, even the smallest finger twitch, was impossibly hard. Still the urgency that pounded through her was undeniable. They were all in trouble and she wasn't going to be the one who got them hurt. Forcing herself to move, she turned her head towards the arguing Archangels. The movement sent white hot agony searing through her as she felt something tear. She must have made some kind of sound because Raphael turned towards her, his eyes widening. He turned back to her, his hand slipping into the barrier as he gently turned her head back upright. When he withdrew his hands, they were stained red. Whatever she tore had bled.

"Do not move," he said, "your death will not help anyone."

"Yeah, ignore Selaphiel's dramatics," Gabriel said, "he's got a habit of blowing shit out of proportion."

Jo smiled at that. Raphael looked at her curiously and she parted her lips before he could tell her not to speak.

"You guys really do sound like brothers."

"That is what we are," Raphael said, "now rest," he advised, "for a little while. I will wake you soon."

Jo was powerless to disobey as her eyes once more fluttered shut.

* * *

**And Jo's back! For how long? Who knows! But Michael's going to be back soon. I wanted to spread the stuff I had planned for this chapter out over 2 or 3 of them, just to help the flow of the story. But next time there's gonna be Dean/Jo. Jo has her reasons and Dean, well, Dean's not really understanding them.**

**Also as we get more into the Archangel/Demon Lord thing I'll be letting you know the actor I'm associating the character with. Kind of like a Dream-Cast thing for the Archangel/Demon Lords. It helps me when I'm writing to picture the character in my head with a distinct voice and appearance. **

**So remember, the more you review the more I write. Because reviewing lets me know people are enjoying this story. Check the profile, I've got 50 stories, most of which are in production. I like reviews because it lets me know you're reading. So,**

**Please PLEASE REVIEW!!**


	7. Chapter 7

The black town car slid into the parking lot of the motel.

It continued to sit there purring as the passenger door opened, seemingly of its own accord. A moment later a man stepped onto the cheap asphalt. His shoes were black and polished to the point where the sun seemed to shine from them. The grey suite he wore was tailored perfectly to his form. Reaching out, he buttoned the first of the black buttons on the blazer as he got to his feet. While he wore no tie, the black shirt he donned was open at the collar and the first button. If one looked very closely they would see the tops of the inky lines that caressed his chest. His eyes were hidden with black sunglasses that seemed to match his black hair which was slicked back from his features. Still he paused to give it a passing touch with his hand, ensuring that every hair was in place.

With assured steps, the man walked towards the motel room, ignoring the strange looks the few people outside gave him. Reaching out the man's hand locked around the doorknob, turning it. It only turned a little, stopped by the lock, but he kept turning, even past the resistance until with a snap the thing spun completely around. A push from his hand was all it took to open the previously locked door. Stepping into the room, the man looked around at the pristine space. It was empty of any sign of occupancy. Reaching up, the man pulled the dark glasses off his face, walking further into the room. He stopped in front of the bed, reaching down and peeling back the sheets to expose perfectly clean white ones.

The room was far cleaner than a motel of this standard had any right to be.

Reaching out, the man dragged a manicured hand across the sheets, bringing it back to his face. Closing his eyes he placed his fingers at the base of his nose and inhaled, letting the scent fill his nostrils. Opening his eyes, he let his hand drop back to his side, eyes once again casting around the completely deserted room--a room that had been cleaned with something far more powerful than the people who ran the place possessed.

"Damn it! Where the _fuck_ are they?!"

**

* * *

**

The smell of leather, metal and gunpowder was the first thing Jo noticed.

That and old beer.

It took her mind a moment to figure out where the hell she was. The ground was moving, of that she was sure, but it wasn't swaying like it had been. Now it was moving in one constant direction, pulling her to the side. And she was at a different angle too. Now she was moving but it was to the side and in one direction. She could feel an odd sort of pressure too, at her shoulder, waist and then at her upper thigh and her calves. There was sun as well and she realized that she wasn't in the motel anymore. when she forced her eyes open, she realized that she was definitely in the back of a car. Worse, she recognized the seat she was laying on. Blinking to clear her eyes, she turned her head.

Sure enough, sitting in the front seat, was Dean Winchester.

He didn't look good, not as good as she had hoped considering Michael wasn't torturing him anymore. There was sleeplessness written all over his face. Stress too, as if the world had been dropped onto his shoulders--more than it usually was anyway. His fingers were gripping the steering wheel hard enough that she would be surprised as hell if the thing wasn't dented when he finally let it go. There wasn't anyone in the passenger seat and for a second Jo thought she might have dreamed Gabriel and Raphael up.

"You finally back you miserable bastard?" Dean demanded suddenly, his voice gruff.

"Its nice to see you too," Jo rasped.

Dean's eyes widened moments before his foot slammed on the brake, stopping the car dead in the middle of the street. Jo braced herself for the pain that should have come with impact but it never did. Dean twisted around in the seat, his eyes scanning her body with an almost frantic urgency. Jo wished she could move but she realized that her body was belted into the backseat pretty solidly. All she could do was wait for Dean's eyes to finally land on her face. When they did she forced herself to grin up at him. His eyes widened before they went back to her side and her neck, darting between the two as if she had re-injured herself. But she hadn't.

"Shit, Jo," he looked at her, "sorry, I thought you were--you feeling okay?"

"I'm thirsty," she managed to get out.

"Yeah, Raphael said you might be, hold on," the car moved again, just until it was out of the main part of the road. Dean stopped much more slowly this time before he turned the car off and came around the other side, pulling open the door near her head. In one hand he had a bottle of water which he uncapped to reveal a straw tucked inside. Pulling it out he bent down. Jo turned her head to the water, taking an experimental sip before wincing at the pain in her throat, "you gotta drink something," he said.

Dean hated the pain he saw in her eyes. But there was determination in them too. She didn't nod but she did move her head forward a bit, her lips closing around the straw as she took another drink. He couldn't imagine how much it must have hurt but she drank until she couldn't anymore, pulling away from the bottle and closing her eyes, breathing in as sharply as her damaged throat would allow her too. He'd been up there expecting that when he turned around Michael would be in Jo's body once again. Dean didn't know whether he'd be grateful because that meant Jo was back to being healed or upset because once again Jo was gone and he hadn't even had the chance to say something to her. Not that he had any idea what he was going to say. It was predictable that his first words the girl who had actually saved his ass were curse words. He could just picture the disapproving look on her mother's face.

A look neither of them would ever see again.

Jesus, did she even know her mom was dead? He imagined everything had been so crazy that if she did it hadn't really sank in. And now was not the time to dwell on it either. They had to keep moving. The whole point of Raphael--the damn _healer--_Gabriel and Selaphiel picking different directions was so that they would lure whatever Demon Lord they felt coming towards them. Castiel would take Sam and he'd take Jo. With any luck they'd have a shot at keeping Jo safe until Michael returned. He had wanted to go with Sam and let Castiel take Jo but Raphael--and Sammy, the bastard--had been insistent. He had to take Jo. So they'd belted her into the Impala as best they could and he'd taken off in his direction, barely even letting his foot off the gas except to make sure that the ride wasn't too sharp.

"What's happening?" Jo asked finally, her voice still raspy.

"Demon Lords," Dean said, "they couldn't wait. We got out as fast as we could," Jo nodded without really understanding, "we gotta keep moving."

"Can I come up front?" she sad finally.

"Jo--"

"Please?" she looked down at her body, "I feel like a hunk of meat strapped back here."

She thought he was going to say 'no' but finally he gave a gruff sort of nod and walked around the car, pulling open the door and undoing the straps on her legs. Closing the door he came back around to the front and undid the bindings on her chest. Looking at her laying there, Dean didn't know how he was going to get her out of the car without jostling her too much. Jo bent her leg, pressing her foot to the leather of the car as she made to push herself up.

"Easy," Dean said, "hold on," he slid his hand underneath her shoulders, pulling her up against him, "get your arms around my neck."

Jo obeyed him as he pulled her from the car, hooking his other hand underneath her knees as he lifted her free. Jo leaned her head against her arm as Dean knocked the car door shut with his hip. The smell of old beer, leather, metal and gunshot was far stronger when she was pressed against his chest. She wished she didn't find the smell quite so comforting but it was the same one she had grown up around at the Roadhouse. It was much better than the incense smell of wherever Michael had taken her and a hundred times better than the petrol smell of the gas station she had almost died in.

"Jo," she looked up at him, "door?"

Jo reached out and grabbed the door of the car, jerking it open. Her wrist strained but it worked and that was an immediate improvement. Dean lowered her into the Impala. He pulled the seatbelt forward but she stopped him with a glare, reaching out and grasping the seatbelt. Dean snatched his hand back before her fingers could touch her. Jo put the buckle in its slot, buckling herself in. Her muscles ached and trembled, feeling like she had never lifted her arms before in her entire life. Strange because she remembered when she had held shotguns and knives and killed with her bare hands before. Dean closed the door behind her and jogged around to the other side of the car, getting in. Putting the car into gear, he pulled back onto the road.

Dean glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't thought that Jo'd be back, not so soon. But there was no doubt about who was sitting next to him. If Dean had to get it down to a word or two, he'd say it was the look in her eyes. Even when Jo wanted to beat him--which was fairly often--she still had this damn kind of smile in her eyes. It was there now, the kind of warmth and excitement that no Archangel would've been able to show. Hell most people couldn't show it either. Now even after everything it was still there, even though she was barely strong enough to buckle her own seatbelt and lift her head up, even though she had been possessed by an Archangel he was sure she'd still smile like she always had. the thought, for some reason Dean wasn't quite sure of, made his hands tighten on the steering wheel.

"Sorry about calling you a miserable bastard," Dean said, "i thought you were--"

"Michael?" Jo supplied. Dean gave a curt nod, "I'm guessing you two aren't getting along all that well."

"Yeah, well, the dude's got too many people kissing his ass as it is," Dean said trying to keep his eyes on the road instead of looking at her all the time.

"And what? you think I kissed his ass?" Jo demanded, feeling her hackles rise.

She didn't know why she was picking a fight with him. From the exhaustion written plain on his face, he wasn't having an easy time with what was happening either. But he had come out the other side fine, like he _always_ did. And what about her? First time they'd hunted together she'd gotten herself fucking kidnapped, then kidnapped again and then she'd gone ahead and almost died. In the world of proving people wrong Joanna Beth Harvelle knew she was way behind. Proving him wrong, proving Bobby and Sam and her mom--

Reality slammed into Jo like a ten ton truck, expelling the air from her lungs. Her mom was dead. Between being out like a light and being used by Michael she hadn't had time to think about it but now reality careened into her. Ellen had stayed because she'd up and died before she'd been able to finish the job. And now her mom was dead. The fact that she could be sitting in the car, weak and broken as she was, and Ellen was just, well, just _gone_, it was enough to make her head spin. She'd told her--God how many times had she told her that she wasn't cut out to be a hunter but Jo had refused to listen. Refused even when her mother had been right about everything else. Don't wear those new corduroys on your first day of school, its ninety degrees outside. Don't go kissing the Johnson boy behind the toolshed, he's no good for you. Don't go thinking about those Winchester boys, especially not Dean. Don't go being a Hunter, you'll get yourself killed. She'd been right about _everything_ and who was dead now? Not her, Ellen was. Ellen was dead. Her mom was gone--

"Jo! Jo," Dean's voice ripped through her panic laced thoughts, "damn it Jo--what's going on?!"

"M-my mom," she stared at the road, her throat tight and her eyes burning, "she's--she's _gone_."

She looked half crazy and more than half dead and Dean felt something deep inside him crack. Sammy was right--as Sammy tended to be in the most annoying way possible--he was shit at dealing with emotions. Not just his but Jo's too. He could order Sam to get his panties out of a bunch and act like a man but looking at the woman sitting there Dean knew that wasn't going to work. Not here. Not like this. But what the fuck was he supposed to do with her? What the hell was he supposed to say to her to make her feel better? The idea of pulling into a junk yard, handing her a crow bar and an old junker and telling her to 'have at it' crossed his mind before he dismissed it. She wasn't in any kind of shape to be beating a damn car.

"Yeah," Dean found his voice hoarse but at least it was coming out, "she's gone," Jo inhaled sharply, shakily, "took those bitch Hell Hounds with her too. She saved all our asses. Sammy and I wouldn't be here without her."

"I tried to get her to leave--"

"I know," Dean said quickly, "Hunters like Ellen--like you--you don't do what your told."

"And you do?" Jo questioned, her eyes moving to him.

"Never said I did," Dean said, "its what makes a good Hunter. You gotta have that fight in you."

If Jo had any kind of sense she would have realized that Dean was distracting her. It was the only thing his mind could come up with. Distract her from the pain and the worry and, most of all, the thing that would probably have her freaking out and getting injured further. They shouldn't have been moving her at all and without Raphael and the bastard's damn necessary healing powers, Jo was going to die. She couldn't. Not before Michael got there and she got fully better. Viciously he realized he didn't give a damn if she wanted to go to her mom or just to give up, he didn't care. If he had to pull over and do fucking CPR until Michael got back then that was exactly what he was going to do. Dean saw her eyes go to the road as she fell silent.

"So, you gonna tell me what Heaven's like?" he said going for the first thing that he could, "or am I gonna have to come up with the pretty picture myself?"

"What makes you think I went to heaven?" Jo asked looking at him.

"I don't think Michael's making trips to Hell," Dean said.

"I was wondering how long it'd take you to bring that up," Jo said after a moment of silence.

She saw Dean's fingers tighten on the steering wheel and couldn't help but think if he gripped that thing any tighter he was gong to break the damn thing. She saw all the signs of an angry Dean Winchester. The flare of his nostrils, the shift of his jaw, the clench of his hands against the steering wheel. She had a feeling if he could he'd be hitting something too. He was pissed off but at what she wasn't sure. A good part of her thought he was pissed at _her_. At what she'd agreed to do But he'd never say it. Not when she was half dead in the passenger seat of his Impala. Not after she'd almost died and lost her mother and all the other crap that'd happened between them. He was trying to protect her and in some sick, twisted kind of way that was the most annoying thing of all. Especially because every single time she tried to prove to people--to him, always to him--that she didn't need protection she wound up getting kidnapped or killed or used as a Vessel.

"Yeah," Dean said, his hand shifting against the wheel again.

"So you gonna break that thing in half or are you gonna tell me what's got your panties in a wad?" Jo questioned glaring at him.

Dean's head snapped towards her but Jo returned his gaze, too tired and too hurt to care about what she saw in his eyes. She supposed that her stomach would always flutter when she looked at him but one of the advantages of being so badly hurt was that she could easily blame it on the injuries. Was it her stomach fluttering or internal bleeding? Was her heart pounding because she was sitting in the front seat of the Impala next to the boy of her dreams or because she had recently been almost blown up? Was it his eyes that were making her knees feel weak or the fact that she still could barely stand? The rational part of her told her this pity party wasn't getting her anywhere but the rest of her far preferred being able to blame the symptoms on something other than that undefinable Dean-smell that always made her knees go weak.

"He's been after me and Sammy for months. We've had stomach cancer, vindictive Archangels--hell I time traveled and still the answer was always 'no'. There isn't anything good about being possessed--no matter what you're being possessed by. Damn it didn't they teach you anything--"

"Oh well thank you Mr. Demon Hunter," Jo snapped, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "next time I'm dying and I get the opportunity to get back in the fight I'll keep that important lesson in mind!"

"Yeah, well--good!" Dean snapped fumbling for the right angry words.

"Good?" Jo demanded, "unbelievable. You know, there's more at stake her than your damn ego!"

The shout seemed to be Jo's tipping point as she began to cough, pressing a hand to her mouth. If she had been better, Dean was sure she would have doubled over. He didn't need to look to know that there was blood in her palm. Like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over him, all the anger he'd felt at her and her decision to allow Michael to take her vanished. He quickly pulled off he road, putting the Impala into park before turning to her. An apology was half on his lips but it would have to wait. There were more pressing things at hand. Her coughing quieted but her hand remained pressed tightly to her mouth, her body straining against the seatbelt that held her in place against the seat. Dean quickly reached into the Impala's ancient glovebox, pulling out napkins he always made fun of Sam for keeping stashed in there.

"Here," he said quickly pulling her hand down. Trying not to look at the red collected in her palm, he pressed one of them to her hand in an effort to clean up the blood, "it'll be--"

"Easier to breath," she said, closing her hand around the napkin before wiping her mouth with the part that wasn't red, "not a lot of blood," she took a breath, "its harder to breathe," she said, seeing no point in lying.

"Michael had to make a quick exit," Dean said, "none of the Archangels were expecting you to make it," his lips quirked in a humorless smile, "sons of bitches."

"Yeah," Jo echoed, fixing him with what could have been a look of amusement if the only color on her face hadn't been from where the blood stained her lips.

"That's it," Dean said putting the car into drive.

"What's it?" Jo demanded.

"Demon Lords are coming after you as Michael's Vessel," he said, "we split up to keep you safe and we're supposed to keep moving but--" he stopped.

"But you think if we keep moving I'm gonna die before he gets back," Jo said.

"We're finding a place to stop for the night," he said turning the car onto the road.

"What if they find us?" Jo asked softy.

"We're going to salt that place to hell," Dean said, "and pray that works as well on Demon Lords."

Jo smiled faintly, amused at the idea of Dean Winchester praying for anything.

"Keep driving," she said instead.

"No," Dean said flatly.

"Yes," Jo said, her eyes glinting.

"No way. We're getting somewhere stationary and we're bunking down there. I'm not keeping you moving," Dean said.

"If the Demon Lords get me its not gonna matter much is it?" Jo asked, "keep driving, at least for a little while," she glanced around as if she could see them with her limited range of vision.

Dean let out a breath, hating that there was any sort of truth to her words. He told himself he didn't want to start up another argument with her, not when she was so close to being hurt even worse. Not after everything. He told himself that as he drove past the station that announced offers for lodging, gas and food. He also told himself he didn't feel a jolt at the small smile that played on her red lips. She shifted slightly, leaning her too heavy head against the side of the car, barely having the sense to lock it. Her eyes began to pull shut, dragged by fatigue and the desire to do nothing more than go to sleep.

"Hey, hey!" Dean's voce was low and unnecessarily loud, "we keep driving you gotta talk," he said "you know better than to go to sleep now."

"What am I supposed to talk to you about?" Jo asked, forcing her eyes open, knowing he was right.

"I don't know--" Dean looked at her, "how ugly is Michael. Tell me the bastard's at least ugly."

"You _really _don't want to know the answer to that," Jo said, thinking of how he had looked when she first saw him, "you want me to tell you how stupid the look on your face was Michael threw you across the Chapel?"

Dean looked at her with a glare but Jo was sure she saw a smile somewhere in there.

They drove until the daylight faded to dusk. Finally Dean pulled into a motel and Jo found she was too exhausted to argue with him. He got them a room in the back, where he could carry a half dead girl into the room without looking completely suspicious. There was enough salt in the trunk to keep them safe--or as safe as they could be. Jo undid her seatbelt as Dean came to the other side of the car, opening the door and pulling her into his arms. Jo hissed at the unexpected pain, though she knew Dean was being as gentle as he could.

"Sorry," he said gruffly.

"Its fine," Jo said.

With a nod he turned and walked to the motel room, kicking open the door and stepping inside. A quick kick of his foot and the door was closed. He got her on the bed as carefully as he could and though she felt the same pain, she refused to make a sound. Dean set about salting the room as Jo watched from the bed, her limbs too heavy to move. When the salt was done, Dean flipped open his cell phone and punched in the familiar speed dial key. The phone rang as he waited for it to connect. Was he supposed to let Jo sleep or was he supposed to keep her awake? When Sammy had injuries like this--or when he did--they were in the hospital. Not in a motel like this.

The phone connected.

And suddenly Gabriel was in the room.

That was all Dean got before his jaw was throbbing and his back was against the carpet, his cell phone in the hand of the Archangel. Still in jeans and a t-shirt the hand that didn't hold Dean's cell phone held a half eaten candy bar--the other half of which was still in the Archangel's mouth if his cheeks were any indication.

"No!" Gabriel said, mouth full.

"Dude! Chew before you speak," Dean shot back.

"I said no. Bad human," Gabriel said, "cell phones? I know your little buddy makes you think that we don't know how to use these but here's a newsflash. Not all of us are technologically stupid," he shut the thing off and took the battery out, "no cell phones."

"Dean?" Jo's voice came to them, both turning to see the blond girl trying to push herself up.

"Oh shit, she's awake," Gabriel said, "you look even worse."

"Thanks," Jo said with a roll of her eyes as she pushed herself onto her forearms, "you're shorter even short from this angel," she said looking at Gabriel.

"Touché" the Archangel said coming over, "so, Joanna--"

"Jo," Jo cut in angrily.

"Jo," Gabriel said as Dean pushed himself to his feet and walked over/.

"What are you doing here?" Dean demanded, "I thought we were supposed to split up to keep her and Sam safe."

"Yeah, there's been a change in plans," Gabriel said.

"What the fuck do you mean? Where's Sam and Cas?"

"Oh they're together," Gabriel said, pausing with a smile at how that sounded, "but your brother's not so hot on the Angel juice. Selaphiel's off kicking ass and finding Demon Lords. Raphael's trying to help--trying being the key word--and I'm here to keep your Angel girl alive."

"Isn't Raphael the healer?"

"Yeah. He's also the one who wanted to jumpstart the apocalypse. So you get me. Relax," Gabriel said with a grin, "I'm a professional remember. Just call me Dr. McSexy."

"Do not call him that."

* * *

**I just had to have more Gabriel. Dr. McSexy is, of course, the tv show in that episode.**

**So who saw 'Legion'? You know I kind of liked it, not that much but I did like their Michael. But their Gabriel was AWFUL! I like the Supernatural Gabriel better, I hope he's gonna come back to the show this season (soon)**

**Next time Michael might be coming back (maybe) but we get another taste of the demon lords and a new Archangel. Remember you review, I update! **

**So please review! **


	8. Chapter 8

**Holy crap how freakin AWESOME was Michael on Supernatural? You know I don't even care that it blows this fic out of the water, Michael and Dean, the two of them together were just so SO fabulous I could not STAND it. Seriously when he came out and was all "we need to talk" before smoking you-know-who, I was bouncing with the awesomeness of what happened. Seriously SO FREAKIN COOL!! Oh and I liked the cupid episode mostly because Castiel was adorable and Dean was just so perfectly angsty--two things I love. **

**Also, side note, this fic has a precursor. I was inspired by Gabriel and Michael and all those comments about how much you guys liked the two of them. So now there's a fic called "Amaranth" that I wrote. Its kind of a tag to the episode with Michael and kind of ties in with this fic but not entirely. Its more of an excuse for me to play with Michael and Gabriel who are possibly my two favorite characters. Go to my profile and look at it! Its all about the two of them. **

**Back to the story!**

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Jo felt like a piece of meat.

Laying on the bed as Gabriel healed her, she was helpless to do anything but that. It had been hard to move when she was just hurt but with the Archangel healing her it was truly impossible. Even moving her finger would have been too much for her as Gabriel worked to keep her failing body from doing just that. Dean was straddling a chair just out of her range of sight, chin resting on his folded forearms. Gabriel had dragged a chair up to the bed and was sitting in it properly, his hands hovering over her chest. Maybe it was an effect of Michael using her as a Vessel or maybe it was something else but for whatever reason, Jo could clearly see blue light emitting from Gabriel's palms. It was unsettling as hell to see it and to feel the light pulsing through her, though she imagined light was the wrong word for what she was seeing.

"So what's going on with Sammy?" Dean asked finally, breaking the silence, "you said he wasn't handling the 'Angel juice'?"

"Yeah that's what happens when Vessels don't act as they should--" Gabriel began.

"Oh come on man, don't start that crap again," Dean said.

"You asked," Gabriel said looking at him, "Lucifer's playing shit with him. The big guns weren't working so he's going subtle now. Sam can't eat salt, he's physically affected by our powers in a negative way--Lucifer's tryin to isolate him from us so he can probably torture a big old yes outta him."

"Shit," Dean swiped a hand over his face.

"Yeah, I know, jokes on him right?" Gabriel snorted, "he always was a know it all," he glanced a Dean's blank look and grinned, "we didn't restore Castiel back to Heaven because of this. He can get to us, we can communicate with him and that'll be enough but he's not strong enough to affect Sam like the rest of us would."

"He's also not strong enough to fight Lucifer," Dean broke in angrily.

"He-llo, none of us are strong enough to fight Lucifer," Gabriel said sarcastically, "except for Michael. Which is why she's here remember?"

Both their eyes went to Jo and for the life of her she wasn't sure where to look first. She'd brushed up on her Angel lore, she knew that it was Gabriel the Archangel on one side of her. An Archangel that she later learned had abandoned Heaven in what Dean had called "his own private Witness protection program". On the other side of course was Dean Winchester, the boy that flipped destiny the bird when it didn't go with his own plan or meant that the people he loved would get hurt. Despite Dean's struggle, when it came down to it, Jo saw far more alike in the Archangels and the Winchesters than she was sure either party would like to admit. Of course now both were staring at her and Jo felt exposed, naked even under their piercing gazes.

"Could you--" she began.

The door slammed open, cutting her off.

Dean was instantly on his feet, sawed off shotgun in his hands and pointed at the door. The ram rod strait posture, the sharp gaze, even the slight tilt of the head were all dead give aways that the being in the doorway was not of their world. But the piercing emerald eyes, the tumble of dirty blond hair the framed a face that could have belonged on a billboard--those were all of this world and the Vessel that was being inhabited. As was the white lace dress, black motorcycle boots and well worn ebony leather jacket. Dean would have said demon except that despite the slamming of the door, the woman did not make a move to storm in. Hands tucked neatly into her pockets, she just stood there and stared him down, as if she was waiting for something--something like permission to enter the room.

"Amitiel?"

Dean glanced out of the corner of his eye at the Archangel. He looked shocked, stunned even at the sight of her. Dean's mind quickly scrolled through his angelic knowledge. Amitiel wasn't mentioned with the other Arc's, which meant that Gabriel could probably take her. But from the shell shocked look on the Archangel's face and the fact he wasn't making either snide comments or a move to kill her, she was probably on his side. Or on Michael's side anyway. Her eyes did not even flick to Gabriel, they remained locked on Dean. The shotgun in his hand didn't seem to threaten her. If anything it seemed to amuse her. He could see it in the flicker of her eye and the slight turn of her lip. Dean knew that even if she was a Demon the shotgun wasn't gonna do shit, but facing an enemy with a gun was familiar. And in the crazy ass world he'd been thrust into, even the barest shred of familiarity was something he needed.

"You an Angel?" he demanded gruffly.

"Yes," she said, "Michael sent me to you."

"Michael sent you?" Dean demanded, "why'd he do that?"

"Perhaps because he does not trust cowards who run like dogs with their tails between their legs at the first sign of trouble," she said, titling her head slightly towards Gabriel though her eyes remained locked on Dean.

"An Angel who hates other Angels. Come on in," Dean said lowering the shotgun.

"Your manners are far better than what I would have expected," Amitiel said stepping into the room, kicking the door shut behind her and turning the lock telekinetically.

"I tend to be nicer when I'm not being tortured by self righteous assholes," Dean replied.

"Manners but no sense of humor," came the reply as the Angel moved across the room.

Dean watched her. The ramrod strait posture relaxed and her eyes softened, the keen sense of curiosity and piercing directness vanishing. By the time she reached the bed where Jo lay, she could have been any woman on the street. Dean let out a breath, his lips twitching up before he could stop them. This chick was good. She knew what the other Angels looked like and she'd done so that even if Gabriel hadn't been there he probably would've been inclined to let her in. Now though all those little things were gone. He wouldn't have thought she was an Angel anymore than he would've thought Gabriel was one when they had first interacted. Which, Dean realized as he looked between the two of them, might not have been entirely coincidental.

"You're good," Dean said, "i'll give you that."

A quirk of her eyebrow was the only reply he got. Dean looked at Amitiel before he looked at Gabriel.

Michael, it seemed, had a sense of humor.

From his shocked face and her steadfast refusal to even look at him, something had passed between the two Angels. Gabriel had fled, as Amitiel said, with his tail between his legs. Dean had called the Archangel a coward and he'd meant the insult with every bone in his body. And from what Castiel had told him, Michael had all but beat the tar out of Gabriel across the cheap parking lot of the motel the first night the two had been in the same hemisphere for the first time in centuries. But this Angel, she was acting like, well, like a chick. An from personal experience, Dean knew Gabriel would give anything for her to hit him and just get it over with. But she wouldn't. She'd treat him like he was scum--or worse, like he didn't exist--and she'd do it in that sneaky way that only chicks seemed able to pull off. Shrugging off her jacket, the Angel lowered herself to Jo's level, her eyes sweeping over Jo's form and Dean saw the blonde woman squirm in discomfort.

"Okay thats it, show's over," Dean said. Both the Angels looked at him, "you heard me, take the staring contest outside."

"I am not leaving--" Amitiel began

"Yeah you are. So get out before I have to fingerpaint on the walls," Dean said glaring at the Angels. Amitiel moved forward until she stood before Dean, her eyes locking on his, undeterred by their height difference.

"O-kay," Gabriel wisely stepped forward, "how about we break up the staring contest since, you know, there's the end of the world to prevent. " Gabriel looked between them, "Ami--"

"Don't call me that," the Angel snapped, breaking her gaze with Dean to turn and glare furiously at Gabriel who took a step backwards as Amitiel stepped forward, "I should have known you would run again, you miserable, cowar--" Gabriel quickly reversed their positions so she was out the door first.

"You owe me big time for this," he said glaring at Dean before slamming the door behind them, "hey, hey--is that any way to treat your former--ow!"

Dean turned around and walked over to where Jo was laying. She gave him a grateful look, but from the brightness in her eyes he could see that she was very near crying. Jo was a tough girl, they both knew that, but she was a half dead tough girl whose mom had just died. Who was stuck in a shitty motel room with two Angels that saw her as nothing more than a vessel and a guy who pushed people away to protect them. Dean would have cut his arm off if he thought itd' bring Sammy here. Sammy knew how to deal with chicks in ways that didn't involve sex or booze. Hell even Michael probably had a better idea of how to deal what was happening rather than he did. At least when they had been driving it had been with a destination, purpose clear in mind. Now there was nowhere to go, nothing to do except stay alive until Michael came back and took her body over to be his Vessel once again.

"So you feeling any better?" Dean asked walking over to the bathroom and filling one of the cups with water. She watched him carefully, more like a sick child watching their mother approach with foul tasting medicine than an adult watching her--whatever they were to each other, "time to drink."

"I'm okay," Jo whispered, her voice hoarse and almost gone from the coughing.

"Come on, you know better than that," Dean said, "last thing we need is for you to get dehydrated," he set the cup on the table, "here," Dean said bending down, "sit up."

He slid his hand under her shoulders and helped her sit up, propping her against the headboard as gently as he could. Picking up the glass of water, he held it as her shaky hand reached up and grasped the plastic. Only her feeble glare made him lower his hand so she could tip the glass back alone. Dean had coughed up enough blood to know that it hurt like hell to drink afterwards but she did not look more miserable than she already did. She was stubborn as hell and despite the agony she downed the entire glass. Dean was there to take it away when she was done, putting the cheap plastic back down on the table. When he looked back at her her eyes were closed, head back against the synthetic wood with her eyes closed and her lips parted to help her breathe. He could hear a rattle in her chest, liquid was in her lungs.

She was running out of time.

For just a second she was not dressed in black leather pants and a tank top, she was in blue jeans and a grey t-shirt stained with her blood from an attack she'd taken in an effort to save his sorry ass. She was pale now but not as pale as she had been. And her skin was not wet with sweat, her hair was not slicked with blood but the picture was frightening in its similarity. Her eyes were closed, not open and fighting past the pull of death. But she was still fighting. Still fighting to save the world--his sorry ass included. He was just grateful that this time it wasn't going to involve him listening to her say that she was going to blow herself up so that they could keep fighting. It wasn't that she was brave enough to die for what she believed in, he'd done it, Sam had done it--hell most hunters worth their salt had. It was the practical way she'd said it too. Her voice had been full of acceptance, acceptance and determination as if this was the way it was and that was what was going to be.

What had killed him was the fact she had looked at _him_ when she'd said it.

As if she'd known the storm of emotions going on inside him.

Half dead and she was reassuring _him_.

Dean hadn't known why he'd cared so much either. Sure he'd liked her well enough--even if her taste of music was questionable and her skills were rough around the edges. But none of that made sense for why he felt as if he was slowly being tortured, watching her laying there. He'd felt so damn helpless watching her there and it struck him just how wildly unfair the situation at hand was. She was the last person who deserved to be laying there dying in the middle of a shit hardware store in the middle of a shit town. And when that place had blown sky high he couldn't help but wonder if maybe a few of the Hell Hounds hadn't escaped and began to claw at him. It certainly felt that way, like his entire body was engulfed in agony that went strait to his very soul. He'd told her that he didn't want her blood on his hands, that he didn't want to be the reason she chose the fucked up life he'd been forced into. And at the end of the day it was what happened anyway. If he hadn't felt like he was being ripped apart he would have laughed in that bitter, cynical way that made Sam look at him through his bangs and Castiel make some comment about human emotion.

"So how much worse you feeling?" Dean asked finally, more in an effort to get her to respond than to actually find out. He had a feeling the answer wasn't one he wanted to hear, "Jo, _Jo_, talk to me."

"My head's spinning," she mumbled, "s'too heavy."

"Yeah, I know, but your lungs--" he cut himself off, "laying down right now isn't a good idea, okay?"

"Did m'mom blow it up?" she asked, her head turning towards him, "I never got--" she stopped, her eyes glistening, "i was too gone to do it m'self."

"Yeah, yeah she blew that place up, took those hell hounds out and saved me and Sammy's asses," Dean said, and if his smile was forced she didn't say anything about it. Her lips quirked up in a smile of her own, "you and she did good."

"I didn't do anything," Jo said, blinking as furiously as she could, even though a tear escaped and streaked her cheek, "I couldn't--" she shook her head slightly, "couldn't stay alive--"

"Hey, you're still here," Dean said, "that means you're still aliv--" he stopped and looked at her skin.

It was like watching a film in reverse.

the skin of her stomach darkened, first with a bruise then with a scar. Before Dean's horrified gaze, the skin of her side tore. Not as much as the hell hounds had done but enough to elicit a broken cry from her lips. Blood immediately pooled in the wound, spreading over the skin and seeping into the fabric of her shirt and pats before it began to spread across the bedspread. For a second Dean was paralyzed, his mind refusing to believe that this could happen again. Then his body kicked into action. Grabbing the nearest, cleanest piece of fabric he could find, he balled it up and pressed it into the wound. Her entire body tensed as she fought back the urge to cry out, her fingers knotting themselves into the bed sheets as she gasped for air past the agony, past the fluid in her lungs.

"I know, I know it hurts--" the comfort spilled messily from his lips, "damn it--Gabriel!" he shouted the Archangel's name.

Instantly the door was open and the Archangel was striding across the room. His eyes assessed the situation the situation with the calm that came with experience on the battlefield. Immediately they went to the wound on Jo's side, sweeping over the blood on the bed and her clothing. He looked at Dean's hand pressing a towel turning red to the wound on her side.

"Shit," Gabriel said, "hold her up," he continued placing his hand on the bandages.

Dean took Jo's weight onto him, her head fell heavy against his chest. She was too lost in the delirium of her fever and weakness to pretend to be strong. One of his arms wrapped around her shoulders, his other pressing to her chest as Gabriel examined the freshly bleeding wound. Her skin was bare and clammy but his still felt impossibly warm against her own. She could feel the thin cotton of his t-shirt before it ended. And underneath she could feel the rapid, strong pulse of his heart against her ear. The hand that rested on her chest came up and pressed against her neck. Jo couldn't feel her own pulse but whatever he had felt must have been bad. She felt his chest move as he swore, the arm around her shoulders tightening as though if he held her tight enough against him he would be able to keep her safe and whole and alive. The smell of metal, gunshot, leather and whiskey invaded her senses. It was a comforting smell, a mix of all the ones that she had loved as a child.

Like the Roadhouse.

"I hope that's on a clean day," Dean's voice came from somewhere above her and far far away and Jo didn't realize she'd said it aloud.

"Best day," Jo mumbled, her face turned into the cotton of his shirt.

Over the crown of her head, Dean looked at the light that pulsed from Gabriel's hands. The Trickster looked incredibly somber, none of the humor or sass that Dean was used to seeing from the Archangel. Dean risked a look down at the wound on Jo's side. it wasn't getting worse but he didn't see it getting better. Red was still seeping out of her, though it was less than the flood it had been. Dean felt his arm tighten around her, something between a silent plea and a real attempt at keeping her there. He had thought it was bad before but now, now it was so much worse. His eyes raised up to the rest of the room. Amitiel stood outside the door, head bowed and hands clasped. It took Dean's mind a moment to realize that she was not speaking or standing, the Angel was praying. He could not hear the words that came from her lips but as he watched her devotion he found himself hoping that she was in touch with Michael. Because if Jo bled out on the bed then--then--Dean shoved the thought aside.

It wasn't going to happen.

Even when Gabriel looked up at him and the look in his eyes was the last thing that Dean wanted to see.

Three things happened in rapid succession. First the room was suddenly filled with light, light that burned with power. Next something threw Dean away from Jo, clear off the bed so the young Hunter was sprawled on his stomach, a very real knee pressed into his spine to hold him there. The third thing Dean did not see. His eyes seared before his vision went black. He felt power compress, alter like water being poured into a bottle and he heard Jo scream. He could have screamed as well and not have known it. The power, the darkness, the glory of it was crippling. Dean would have fought anything to make sure Jo was alright and, if he was being honest, Gabriel too. But all the fight in the world was unmatched for the power that flooded and overwhelmed his senses. He tried to open his eyes, tried to breathe, to scream to do _anything_ but he could barely cling to consciousness. Even as a hand was laid against his brow and a voice that sounded like Jo but was not whispered to him.

"Rest, Dean, I will take it from here."

"You," Dean inhaled through lungs that felt like they too were full of fluid, "miserable," he forced the words past the blood that trickled hot down his face, "bastard."

And then the darkness roared up and took the Hunter with it.

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**And Michael's back! **

**So we've got Amitiel now in the party too! Don't worry we're gonna be checking in with Cas and Sam in a bit but for right now we're sticking with this group. As for Amitiel, she's not technically one of the seven traditional archangels but considering they don't have Uriel being an Arc for the Supernatural storyline, I've got a special role for her to play. I also wanted to throw in another side to the Gabriel-leaves-heaven story which will be explained in a bit. Also I wanted a female Angel who wasn't so, well, awful as Anna. Anyone who tries to kill the Winchester's sucks and Anna sucked in a big way. I'm glad she's gone. **

**Anyway don't forget to check out Amaranth if you like the Michael/Gabriel dynamic!  
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**Oh and please PLEASE review! Only a few of you rock stars showed up last time--for which I am immensely grateful--but all the other alerts/faves/readers, please review! I love the jump in statics but I love your reviews more! And if you review, I'm more inclined to update sooner....**

**So please review! **


	9. Chapter 9

It was hours before Dean opened his eyes.

The sun was low in the sky, bathing the room in a blood red glow. Dean laid on his back, looking up at the uneven plaster of the ceiling. It was the hallmark of a cheap motel room, the uneven, rough ceiling. His face felt dry but he could smell the tinge of the paper thin cake of soap the Archangels had probably found in the bathroom, strong enough he knew that the spot between his lip and nose had been cleaned. Vaguely he remembered blood streaming from his mouth and nose--and his eyes. His eyes had been bleeding. His eyes widened as he remembered the bright light and the blood and Jo--

Jo--

His body shot upwards on its own accord, eyes moving quickly around the room until they landed on the other occupant. Apparently the angelic power did not extend to clothing. The figure standing silhouetted in the ruby red light wore low leather pants but instead of the cover of the black tank top, almost all of her back was exposed, only the narrow strap of bra she wore revealed she wore anything on top. Dean blinked as he looked at her. Something was different, something flickered across her skin. He had seen it before, when he killed a particularly powerful demon and it clung to the life that it possessed even as it died. The glow, the flicker, it reminded Dean of flames. More than any demon that he had seen. Even as it danced across her skin, he could see a constant burn. Something deep inside her--even if it was not really her at all. Humans did not glow, that much he was certain of. Angels on the other hand--

"Where is she?" Dean demanded, his voice hoarse to his own ears.

"Do not move," Michael's voice made his leg pause, "you can barely sit up. Moving would be foolish, even for you."

"Damn it, what did you do with her?" Dean repeated, stubbornly moving his leg over the other side of the bed.

"Relax," the Archangel said, keeping his back to the Hunter, "she's fine. I arrived in time to make sure of that. Now lay down."

Dean stood up.

Michael made a sound of either amusement or disdain as the Hunter fought to keep his balance. It was pride that kept him on his feet, pride and stubbornness because the moment he got to his feet his legs buckled. But even so the Archangel did not turn around, keeping his back to the younger Hunter. With jerky steps, Dean made his way over to where the Archangel stood. Michael made no move to look at him even when Dean all but collapsed against the wall next to the window. The front was just as bad as the back, there was so much pale skin with only the very little black fabric of the bra to keep it from being entirely indecent. Not that that made him feel any better about the situation they found themselves in. The flicker of the Angelic power was enough to make him sure that it was Michael who was standing there half naked and not Jo.

Even so, somewhere, someway Dean was sure Ellen was planning to kick his ass.

Frowning, Dean realized that Michael was looking at something. Pushing thoughts of kicking Angelic ass aside, Dean glanced out the window. He'd driven them to the motel, he knew that there wasn't anything out there butt trees and, well, trees. And asphalt. And a highway. But nothing that required the kind of watching that Michael was doing. At the same moment that he looked over something was thrown violently against the wall before it was ripped away. The two figures tumbled furiously into view. Gabriel and Amitiel. Dean's eyes widened. The flicker he saw was for them as well. For Gabriel it was constant, rolling, like waves. For Amitiel, it was a steady burn not flickering but not as powerful as the two Archangels he saw. As Gabriel fought, the power seamlessly went to where he struck or defended, redirecting to where it was needed. It was the same for Amitiel but on a smaller scale. Despite the moderate amount of good that the Archangel's had done, Dean couldn't help but feel a twist of joy when she lashed her foot out and round-housed the Archangel in the face.

"They have been at this for hours," Michael said, not moving from his position even as the two moved away from the windows, "and it will be hours before they exhaust themselves."

"So how long were they together?" Dean asked. Michael raised an eyebrow, "I've seen that look before. And I stopped dating Hunter chicks after--" he nodded towards the scene outside the window.

"Amitiel is not a 'Hunter chick'," Michael said, "she is an Angel."

"Yeah, about that, I thought you Angels were genderless."

"We are," Michael said, "but we do have inclinations. I am inclined to choose a male vessel, as is Gabriel, Raphael--Selaphiel. Amitiel inclines towards the female. But exceptions can be made," the Archangel continued.

"So they were--"

"Together? In a way," Michael said.

"Aren't you all siblings?"

"We are Angels," Michael said icily, "your rules, your thoughts--none of it applies to us. Not in the way that you are thinking."

"So he's not banging his sister?"

"That is disgusting," the Archangel said, looking at Dean.

Dean reeled backwards, instinct overruling thought. His body rebelled, struggling to put as much distance between him and the Archangel as he possibly could. Michael's gaze had never been one that could be confused with Jo's, the two were more different than Dean would have thought possible. Now though, his gaze could not even be considered human. The light in Michael's eyes was enough to make every dark corner of his psyche howl in agony. It was pure, it was fire, it was going to kill him if he kept looking at it and yet he found that he could not look away. The instinct said to run and his body tried to follow but it was not able to. Before he could hit the ground, Michael's hand streaked out, easily seizing the Hunter by the collar of his shirt and pulling him up. The Archangel closed his eyes and turned his head away, keeping a firm grip on Dean as the young Hunter's heart threatened to beat right out of his chest.

"I told you to stay on the bed!" the Archangel snapped, pulling the hunter onto the bed before turning back around, bracing his hands against the window sill.

"What the hell was that?" Dean demanded. Michael's fingers tightened on the sill, "damn it--"

"You saw my true form," Michael said, "or a glimpse of it," the Archangel shook his head, "it was a foolish mistake on my part but Joanna was not going to be able to hold on much longer," the Archangel took a breath, "it took almost all of Gabriel's considerable power to keep your senses from imploding."

"Is that why you're all glowing?" Dean questioned as his heart continued to pound.

"Yes," Michael said, "you are going to clearly see Angels, Demons, all of it," he let out another angry breath, "I do not know how long your sensitivity to us will last."

"Sensitivity?" Dean struggled to his feet once more, "is that what you call that? That wasn't fucking sensitivity! That was--damn it I don't know what that was but I--"

"You would have thrown yourself off a cliff to get away from me," the Archangel finished for him, "you have good and evil in you, it is part of being a human. But your sensitivity to my presence, what you saw there, it makes the evil in you react strongly. And it is not helped by our closeness."

"Closeness?" Dean repeated.

"I cannot leave this room," Michael said, "not while my connection is so strong and my power is going to the Vessel. I would attract the attention of every demon nearby," he raised his head up and looked out the window as Dean saw another flicker of power, "and we are not ready for that."

"And Romeo and Juliet out there aren't going to do that?"

"No," he said, "I left Amitiel clear instructions to ward around the parking lot. Now sit down, your heart is dangerously elevated and more Angelic power at this point may very well cause it to explode."

Wisely, Dean sat on the bed.

He had looked on an Angel's form and not had his eyes burned out, so that was something good. And Jo was alright, which was also good. In his head he recited the positive things, focusing on them as he tried to get his heart to slow down. Deep breaths, positive things--it was one of the few things he could remember his mother telling him after he had a nightmare. In and out, he wasn't dead, Sam wasn't dead, Zachariah wasn't giving them stomach cancer to try and get them to say yes. And Gabriel was outside getting his ass kicked by an Angel that Dean remembered as looking cute and small enough to hold off with one hand. He forced his hands to relax on the denim of his jeans as he raised his eyes to look at Michael's back before realizing his mistake. It was Michael, he knew that it was the Archangel, but there was so much smooth, pale skin in the view of his eye and somehow the fact that he was sitting in a hotel room breathing hard with Jo Harvelle dressed in leather pants and a black bra became the true impossibility.

He'd never really spared much thought to the fact that the blonde hunter was wearing shorter hair and lots of leather, but as he looked at her he realized that it looked wrong.

Not the hair, the leather.

Jo Harvelle was a jeans-and-t-shirt kind of girl. Dean might've considered it a requirement that hot girls wore low, tight, leather pants and bras with nothing else. But on her, he realized, it didn't look right. No, Jo Harvelle belonged in jeans. Not the sexually charged outfit that she wore at the moment. He'd left all his shit in the car when he'd carried her into the room but he knew that he had a change of cloths in there somewhere. Hunting was a messy business. If you showed up somewhere in cloths that were torn, bloody and covered in demon gunk people tended to ask questions that you didn't want to answer.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" Michael asked before Dean realized he'd voiced the shirt in the car fact without realizing.

"No," he snapped, "yes," he glared at the floor, "look, its complicated. Would you just get the shirt on?" he demanded with a glare.

"You said that you did not date Hunter chicks," Michael said and Dean could practically see the confused look on his face.

"I don't," Dean said, "we didn't--" he let out a frustrated breath, still focusing on keeping his heart rate down.

"Close your eyes," Michael ordered. Dean opened his mouth, "or you can continue to watch and have your eyes burned out of your skull," Dean closed his eyes. Even so there was a flash of brightness that made his eyes ache and water, "you may open them now."

How he'd found the grey shirt, Dean had no idea but he recognized the item instantly and suddenly he found himself half wishing for her to be topless again. The sight of her in the low slung leather pants, donning _his_ oversized t-shirt sent a whole new set of feelings tumbling through him. If there had been any doubt that Ellen Harvelle was somewhere planning his demise, they were gone. The woman was somewhere not only planning his demise but making it slow, painful and overall as messy as possible for the thoughts going through his head. The worst part was, it wasn't even her. Michael was the room's other occupant, not Joanna Harvelle. Not in any way that mattered. What was happening was his body reacting to another body in the room. A hot, female body that contained the essence of one of the biggest douchebags Dean Winchester had ever met. Stubbornly Dean clung to that fact, with every bone in his body, and not on how Jo's voice had sounded when she told him that he smelled like her favorite place in the world.

"So what are we supposed to do now?" Dean asked, "just wait here until I can look at you without my eyes burning?"

"Yes," Michael said.

"But--"

"_Yes_," the Archangel repeated harshly, "we will wait here. And while we are doing so, I will tell you how we are going to put Death back in his little box."

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It was unnecessary to glance down at the address branded onto her hand.

Unnecessary but she did it anyway, just to make sure.

Her boots clicked against the uneven cobblestones of the street. It was deserted, as streets tended to be in small towns the Horesemen went through. Blood still spattered the plywood that was nailed hastily against the windows and she gave a snort of disgust. Humans. Pathetic little ants had known what was coming and, like bugs, they'd raced to either scatter or defend the anthill. Hadn't mattered a bit. They'd all died, the only difference was some had died running, some had died standing but in the end they'd been crushed all the same. Idly she spared a thought to wonder if that made a difference. If dying defending a hopeless cause made you somehow better than dying running to save your own hide. With a shrug she decided she didn't much care and it didn't much matter. Dead was dead and those souls were just new voices added to the endless chorus.

Glancing down at the manhole by her feet, she motioned sideways with her foot. The cover rose and skidded to the side, turning like a coin to roll down the deserted street. She listened to the sound in the emptiness before the cover lost its balance and clattered noisily to the ground. She waited until it had stilled, wondering if it had landed face up or down on the street. Heads or tails? She'd forgotten to call it. Peering down into the blackness below her feet, she raised one foot and stepped forward, dropping into the oblivion. For a moment she was weightless, dropping down into the nothing below. Then her feet hit the wet cement below, the sound echoing off the tunnel that she stood in. The only actual light came from the sky revealed by the manhole but the inky blackness was anything but a deterrent for her. With a careless shrug, she turned and slid easily into the darkness.

Smells were the first thing to reach her nose. Spices and incense blanketed the underlying tones of liquor, drugs and sex, all mingling to make a perfume that her vessel found to be utterly knee weakening. Her lips curved into a smirk as she thought that any person would think brimstone would be the scent in the air. But no, the smell here was all of pain and pleasure and the dark things that went bump in the night. It was unnecessary, as was the lack of light and the heat that seeped through her. Unnecessary, sure, but she'd be damned if it wasn't fun. And besides, necessity had always been for the decidedly lighter of the beings that roamed the earth. This was indulgence, not necessity. She slowly let her head roll back, the weight of her hair brushing the jacket that covered her bare skin as heat that had nothing to do with the physical warmth of the place pooled low in her stomach.

Her eyes fell on the dark, heavy velvet that blocked her from continuing further. To any but her, it would have been impossible to enter the place. For her it was as simple as parting the curtain and stepping into the room itself.

Red was the first thing that met her eyes. Red in the velvet that hung along the walls. The room was massive and there was enough velvet on the walls and ceiling to cloth an entire country. There was more red in the cushions piled on the floor, a thousand shades ranging from the brightest candy apple to the darkest of maroon. In spite of the room's massive size there were only three people inside the room. Her eyes went over first to the red haired woman who lay on the cushions wearing nothing but two scraps of sheer fabric, their presence designed only to enhance the body that lay beneath. She was gorgeous with a tumble of bright red curls that half hid smoldering eyes lined in ebony. Nearby a woman with jet black hair lounged. It did not matter that the woman was wearing marginally more clothing, every turn of her head, every flex of her finger, all of it dripped with sex. But her eyes went to the man sitting. He was not placed in any sort of position of importance, but she would not make the mistake of addressing anyone else. With slicked back jet black hair and a charcoal grey suite, everything about him was perfect and in place and yet she was sure that there was not a creature, demonic or angelic, who looked like they belong less in all the world.

"Well don't just stand there," he said, his voice oil smooth, "what do you want?"

"I was sent--"

"By Lucifer?" he snorted, "don't make me laugh. Lucifer doesn't send screw ups."

Her fingers itched to touch the scars she still bore. She'd been forbidden from taking off the meat suite she still wore. She'd been left for Death in Carthage, trapped in a vessel and lost in the agony of the burns she'd suffered being used as a fucking bridge by that prick of an Angel. Lucifer had forbid her from leaving, brushing his lips over her forehead and saying if she survived he'd see her in hell. Well she had no intention of not surviving. It'd hurt like a fucking bitch but she'd thrown herself back into the ring of flames. Death had enough to kill. Holy oil hurt like a mother fucker even for a Horsemen and he'd decided that one half-dead demon wasn't exactly worth it. Not when there was a whole world to play with just outside the shit town they'd been in. He'd left her, like Lucifer had, to die. And she'd been pretty damn sure that she would.

Until she woke up three days later, bruised, sore, scarred and very much alive.

She still didn't know how it'd be done, only that it hadn't been her and she hadn't had time to dwell on it. The scars were bad but it just look like she'd had her ass kicked and that was a hell of a lot better than being dead. It sucked that she had to traverse the world in a scarred meatsuit but it was the price she had to pay for being a fuck up. At least she still had her powers and some kind of favor with him. Lucifer had given her the address to come to if she'd survived, burning it into her palm and, like a good little solider, she had followed it. Slowly the man got to his feet and walked over to her faster than her eyes could follow. She stiffened on pure instinct, body going ram rod strait as she looked at him. Before her eyes he inhaled, like a lover smelling perfume before his features tightened in disgust.

"You stink of Angel," he said.

"Didn't have time to shower," she shot back.

"Pity," he said, "the world will be over before we get the stench out of this place."

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from and snapping back. Pissing him off was, at best, a bad idea. She'd survived this long, she wasn't going to just turn around and fuck herself over by talking back to Mammon. To either side she heard the two others chuckle with amusement at his mocking. She kept her eyes ahead, her hands by her sides as he circled her like a predator--though she thought she was anything but prey.

"See," he said, "you came here like a good, obedient solider. If you weren't a disgusting failure it would actually be commendable."

"I made--"

"A what? A mistake?" he made a sound in the back of his throat, "you had one pathetic failure of Angel to guard and you were so busy taunting him you didn't see him loosening a pipe!"

"Lucifer--"

That was all the warning she got before something white hot seared through her stomach.

"Lucifer sent you here to learn your lesson," Mammon whispered, tightening his fingers on the knife embedded in her stomach before he ripped it free, "and to test out a little theory of his."

Her legs buckled as she dropped to the ground, her hands clutching her stomach as blood poured from the wound. She looked down at her hands, watching as the red soaked them before she looked up at Mammon, her lips parting in wordless horror. Bile set her chest on fire as she stared up at him. Mammon looked down at her, distaste written all over his features as he dropped the knife to the ground, too far for her hands to make any sort of grab for it, though she knew it was useless to continue to hold her stomach. Mammon produced a black square of fabric from somewhere she could not see, wiping his hands smoothly as he crouched down in front of her.

"You see, you were supposed to die that day back in Missouri. Die for your failure. But you lived and it wasn't by the dealing of a demonic hand. No, Lucifer thinks this was far more angelic than that."

She choked on bodily fluid as she stared up at him.

"Did you know that when an Angel heals, a connection is made? Its fascinating, really. Even now that I am, well," he smiled at what he was, "this," he motioned to himself, "I can still tell you the name of every single one of those pathetic maggots. I can even tell you how they died, when they died--if they're deaths were caused by my absence."

He titled his head to the side, thoughtful for a moment before he discarded the black fabric and crossed his arms.

"I felt them die and, it was, to put it lightly, excruciating," he knelt down to her level, "the blood flowing out, the bile eating away at their organs, I felt it all and it felt like it was happening to me," he reached out but she turned her head away, "oh don't be like that," he said, "you're still serving your father. After all, these were his orders."

In a single, smooth motion, she turned to face him and spat blood into his face, making sure it splattered his suite.

"Go to Hell," she shot back viciously.

She blacked out just as the room burned white with angelic fire, too exhausted to be pissed.

But she was, because if there was one thing that Meg truly hated it was when an Angel, even a failed one, was right.

* * *

**So how are they going to put Death in his box? Why would an Angel heal a Demon? Is Lucifer aware his brother's hanging out on earth now? **

**Tune in next time to find out!**

**Also just so you know, Amaranth has become a separate story. One thats separate and just based around Michael and Gabriel. **

**Don't forget to review! When you review it makes me want to update!**

**So please review!**


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